


lights will guide you home

by prettyluke (buttonjimin)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, Angst, Brain Damage, Hate Crimes, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Violence, Physical Therapy, Slurs, Some Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-08-10 02:31:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 48,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7826785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttonjimin/pseuds/prettyluke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a night blurred by blood and fear, Luke struggles to rebuild his life, and his search for the light leads him right to Ashton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. my bright is too slight to hold back all my dark

**Author's Note:**

> please watch for tags to be added as we go, as I haven't completed the story yet. however, I wouldn't expect anything too nefarious to pop up, and I'll let you know if it does. enjoy!

Luke wakes to noise, so much _noise_ and _lights_ and _movement._ His vision is blurry and he struggles to focus on the shadowy shapes fleeting before him. A light flicks on in his face and he shuts his eyes immediately, blinded by the sudden brightness. He shivers and shakes, but he can’t find an ounce of energy to curl in on himself. It’s okay, because someone is throwing a blanket over his aching body.

He wants to move. Rocks and gravel dig into his back where he lies. He opens his mouth to say so, but something is surging up his throat and choking him, and someone yells, quickly bracing his head and neck and moving him onto his side so the vomit can leave his mouth. His consciousness wanes for a moment, the noise and light dimming before refocusing. Someone is wiping out his mouth and he’s so, so glad, because the taste makes him want to throw up again.

The first discernible words he can make out are, “Can you hear me, kid?”

Luke wants to respond, but he can’t think past the pain, can’t form words. He’s confused, dizzy; his head pounds something serious, and he fights the very strong urge to throw up again. It’s not like a migraine or a hangover—it’s blinding, so much so that his vision goes out whenever someone speaks too loudly. There are so many voices. His breathing feels shallow and the sharp pain all over his chest prevents him from joining in.

Fingers grope at his wrist and his neck, then at the back of his exposed skull. He can’t feel a thing there other than a very faint pressure. He knows that’s wrong. He lies still and boneless, afraid distantly he might hurt himself if he moves. “Get him in the ambulance,” someone yells. “Major head trauma.”

The person yelling moves his arms under Luke’s back and starts to lift, and the world sways frighteningly. It makes him nearly sick, so he closes his eyes. The person has wrapped the blanket tightly around Luke. A blanket burrito, he thinks dizzily. His mother used to wrap him like that. The swaying stops when he’s lain down on a soft surface. The back of his head against the fabric he lies on feels wet and bumpy now, like his hair is matted into lumps and won’t lie flat.

“Don’t let him lie like that, his head—”

“His neck could be—”

“Where’s the blood coming from?”

The ambulance jolts to life, and Luke starts choking on vomit again when the movement jostles his head. His head is turned and his mouth emptied again, and then his head falls back again.

“He’s freezing, get a warmed IV into him. He needs morphine, too.”

Luke distantly registers his arm stinging, but that’s difficult to single out, because his whole body spikes with pain every few seconds. By the time the morphine hits him, he’s already letting himself go.

 

* * *

 

Luke stares at his breakfast. The scent of toast wafts up to his nose, warm and enticing. His mother made it with his favorite raspberry jam spread thinly on too, crisped to a perfect medium brown. To his side sits a hand-squeezed glass of orange juice made with the fruit from the orange tree in the backyard.

“Take a bite, hon,” his mother urges, waiting with a forced smile. Luke can see the worry swarming in her eyes. He looks away, down at the food on the tray in his lap, and reaches with an unsteady hand for the toast.

The toast is easier to grip than the forks, spoons, and knives they’ve tried thus far. But still, Luke needs both hands to lift the toast and bring it to his mouth. He takes a bite, and his mother relaxes a little. The toast falls out of his hands onto the plate, jam side down, and his mother tenses again.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” she assures him anxiously, patting his shoulder. Luke stares at her, rattled; he knows if he cries now then that’s as far as they’ll go. She’ll take the toast in her hand and bring it to his mouth. That’ll be the end of his independence for today.

He grabs at the toast again and takes a bite, his finger slipping clumsily across the edge of the jam. He can’t control it. He takes a bite, lowers the toast. Repeat the cycle.

He doesn’t remember learning to hold things as a kid, what it felt like to learn new words and speak but without comprehension from the people around him. He doesn’t remember learning to walk for the first time and falling on his ass when his legs can’t hold his weight. But just when he thought he was ready to take a step into adulthood, he’s been catapulted back to the beginning.

Grab. Bite. Put down.

Grab. Bite. Put down.

Grab. Drop. Grab. Bite. Put down.

He eats in silence, his mother watching him intently the whole time. Now and then his fingers lose their grip on the toast, and he grits his teeth and tries not to get frustrated. They told him it would be a long recovery process, but he’s just starting to realize exactly what they meant.

“Good job,” his mum tells him quietly, trying to be encouraging. Luke fights the shame of her condescension and lets her take away his plate. “I’m going to get Jack to come help you down the stairs, okay?”

He stares at the ceiling once she leaves him alone, wondering when his headache will subside and how painful today will be. He lets the tears well up now that she’s gone, reaches up to wipe them away sloppily. His nose runs, but he has nothing to wipe it with, so he just sniffs loudly.

“Knock knock,” Jack says, rapping his knuckles on the doorframe. They used to share this room before it got too small for the both of them. That was before Jack started to slip away. Jack hasn’t been inside this room for years, but the last week he’s been in here every morning to faithfully help Luke down the stairs.

He sees the tears still smeared over Luke’s cheeks and falters, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Oh, hey. Hey now. You’re all right.”

Luke kind of hates Jack for saying that, because he definitely isn’t. All he’s done since he woke up in the hospital is cry, even though his bones are setting and the headaches are getting better. Nothing helps to mitigate the nightmarish, Herculean tasks of walking, talking, and doing anything without help.

They sent him home with forearm crutches, but he doesn’t think he can stomach the absolute embarrassment of using them. He doesn’t want to see anyone, either. Everyone knows what happened to him.

Jack sits on the edge of the bed, and Luke shuffles so his arms are around Jack’s neck and his legs straddle Jack’s lower back. Jack grabs his hands and keeps a good grip on them as he stands up and makes his way toward the stairs. Neither of them say anything until the bottom of the stairs. Luke is still sniffling and trying to be as quiet as he can.

Jack sets him down on the couch and helps him get his legs up. “Need anything?” he asks, looking everywhere but at Luke. Luke feels his stomach turn in a nasty way. It’s not right. So much is not right that he can’t even deal with because he can’t say the words fast enough. If he wanted to scream, he’d need the words to do it, and he doesn’t even know where to start. Does he start with the last year, everything that brought him here, the arguments and door slamming and the tears? Or does he start after, during the quiet?

Luke shakes his head. “I’m good.”

 

* * *

 

Luke hates physical therapy, except it’s the only time he gets to be alone these days. And the therapists, at least, don’t look at him weirdly or act like he’s got an infectious disease. But the therapy itself, he could do without.

Not _actually_ , but if he wasn’t about as dependent as a two year old, yeah, he’d stop going.

He doesn’t really have a choice anyway, given that Jack’s been carrying him to and from place to place, including from the house to the car, and once he’s in the car he can’t really do much. The people at the hospital are nice enough to help him inside, since even with the crutches he’s fallen several times and scraped himself up. Today’s his third day of physical therapy, and he’d rather be at home sleeping.

Most of the therapy right now is just trying to move individual limbs and walking with his crutches across the room, and he can’t even get that right yet. He’s a long way from finding inner peace, or whatever.

His mother checks him in at the desk as the therapist helps him down the hall and toward the right room. Luke is glad he doesn’t make small talk on the way; his name is Rian, which he insisted during the first visit was the only name he wanted Luke to call him. He’s fairly young and treats Luke like an adult, which he technically is, but some of the nurses in the hospital baby talked to him. He didn’t mind terribly at the time, given that he was either semi-conscious or in a lot of pain, but he’s about done with it. Luke bristles at the shame of being helpless and needing high-maintenance care.

There’s someone else in the room today, a boy who looks like he’s either Luke’s age or older. As Luke sits down, he flicks his dark hair out of his eyes, looking at Luke for the first time with curiosity. Luke’s jaw tenses at the direct eye contact. Oblivious, Rian settles in one of the chairs after helping Luke into one as well.

“Luke, do you mind if Calum sits in with us?” Rian starts scribbling down something on the paper, not watching Luke’s reaction. “He’s interning here. It’s okay if you want to do this alone, of course, but he’ll just observe. Is that all right with you?”

Luke frankly isn’t super eager about the idea, but Calum looked him in the eye, so that either means he doesn’t know what happened or he doesn’t care. “Okay,” he says grudgingly, squirming in his chair and wishing he could escape Calum’s intense gaze. He’s got an intelligent, thoughtful face, and thick brows that make his eyes look even darker. Luke feels like he’s being scrutinized.

“Okay! Fantastic. Why don’t you give me a run-down of how you did over the weekend?”

Luke swallows hard and presses the tips of his crutches against the ground to shift in his chair. He glances at Calum, then back at Rian. “Um,” he starts, forcing himself to think as slowly as he talks so he doesn’t get ahead of himself. “I, I can’t get down the stairs.”

“Right, we talked about that last session. Are you trying to walk around the house?”

Luke answers with a quick shake of his head. No, too embarrassing. He hates how his family watches him when he tries. It’s some unhappy mix between sympathy and overwhelming worry. He can’t take the pressure or the attention.

“Is your brother still carrying you everywhere?”

A nod. Luke expects him to for a while.

Rian makes some notes. Luke tries to follow the path of his pen, but it’s useless entertainment. Calum is peering off Rian’s notes, and Luke wishes momentarily they could switch places. That he could be the one sitting back nice and easy and Calum could be the one facing years of work before he returns to normalcy.

“Any new pains or improvements?” Rian asks, tapping the pencil against his lips. Luke considers the last two days. Everything hurts about as much as it should, considering how much was broken and bruised. And the hip dislocation. But the medications mute a lot of it, and he can’t think of anything out of the ordinary.

“No,” he answers. “And I, um, I ate toast yesterday. By myself.”

“Good, that’s good. Okay, why don’t we work on moving around a bit?”

Luke nods and shuffles his crutches around to get better leverage. Rian helps him out of the chair, guiding him over to the parallel metal bars that run across the room. Someday, not today, Luke will be able to walk through them. For today, Rian has him stand next to them and put one hand on the bar closest to them. He has to take off his crutches and put them aside. Rian tells him to slowly lift and lower his outside leg, which not only tests his balance, but his muscle strength, neither of which are top notch at the moment. He suddenly wishes Calum would leave.

The session is long enough to get Luke sweating, even though the most he does is go halfway across the room with his crutches. Rian makes him work on his hand strength at the end, and gives him all sorts of little things to help him practice at home, like putty he’s supposed to squeeze really hard. Luke is mostly glad for an excuse to stay in his room.

Rian gives him a winning smile at the end of the session and pats Luke’s back. “You’re already doing better than when you came in.”

Luke doesn’t know how Rian manages to encourage him without sounding pitying or condescending the way everyone else does, but it probably comes from years of practice with other patients about as fed up as Luke. Luke smiles briefly and allows Rian to grab his crutches for him. He gets ready to hobble to the exit.

“Calum, would you please walk Luke out?”

“I can...make it...myself,” Luke ekes out, staring at his Chucks. He doesn’t need a babysitter. “I’m okay.”

“Nonetheless, I have some notes to take and it wouldn’t look very good if you collapsed in our hallways. Besides, I’ve tired you out. Take it easy, okay? Don’t forget to practice at home.”

Grudgingly, Luke starts crutching his way out the door and down the hall with Calum by his side. Calum doesn’t hover over him as he expects him to, which satisfies Luke. It’s a snail’s pace journey, and Luke has to sit down a few times, exhausted by the effort it takes to get down the hall.

“You’re doing really well,” Calum says, and while Luke can’t really detect any patronization, he still takes offense.

“You...don’t need to say that,” he says, frowning. The last thing he needs right now is someone trying too hard to make him feel better. It’s one thing when Rian does it, but Calum’s his age, which somehow feels worse.

“No, I mean it,” Calum insists. “It looked like you were working really hard. You must really want to get better.”

Luke stares at him dispassionately. “I can’t walk,” he says, wondering how anyone could be so _stupid_. “I want to walk again. You would too.”

Calum sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t a smart thing for me to say.”

“It wasn’t.” Luke starts to move again, painstakingly inching toward the lobby. When he rounds the corner, he finds his mother isn’t even there. He flops down in a chair and sets his crutches to the side. “Thank you. I’m good now.”

“Are you sure? I could stay with you until your mum comes.”

“Thank you,” Luke repeats, more firmly this time. “I’m good.”

Calum nods and wanders aimlessly back down the hallway. Luke sighs and leans back, his head hitting the wall. He doesn’t want to look down at his atrophic legs anymore. They’re not too bad now, not as bad as they could be, but after a few weeks in the ICU and hardly using his legs since the incident, they’ve shrunken down quite a bit.

He wonders what would happen if he got to his feet on his own, stopped waiting, and just started walking in one direction. He probably wouldn’t get far enough for his mother not to find him in time. But he thinks that if he could, if he just started walking, he might never come back to this town.

 

* * *

 

Ben comes home mid-week after doing a job in the area. Luke hears the front door open and freezes up, momentarily worried about intruders, but he hears Ben’s heavy footsteps and his voice calling out to see who’s home. Luke, who’s lying on the couch watching Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, manages to yell, “Me!” through the spike of excitement that clouds his head. He feels a rush of relief in knowing Ben is home, at least for a little while.

Ben comes into view, grinning and bending down to hug Luke. He smells sort of like sawdust and cologne, but he feels warm and comforting. Luke is so grateful to see him he almost feels like crying.

“How are you, kiddo?” he asks, lifting Luke’s legs and sitting down before lowering them back down over his lap. Luke smiles and wiggles his toes. “You’re in tip-top shape, I see.”

Luke just tilts his head and smiles. “Yeah.”

“Mum told me you started physical therapy and speech therapy. How’s that going?”

Luke tries not to look too dejected, although Ben might stay longer if he knows how miserable Luke is. “Good.”

“Bet you’re a star patient, huh.” Ben pats Luke’s knee. “I just got off a house building job. My god, you’d think I was torturing the guy who contracted me. He changed his mind every day. I thought he was going to fire me.”

Luke has always loved hearing Ben’s wild stories about the people who hire him, especially now, when he can’t say anything back. “Did...did he...like the house?” he struggles out, leaning forward eagerly.

“Well, he paid me quite a bit, so I guess in the end he was happy. Hey, that reminds me. I’ll take you out sometime. D’you wanna go to a bar or something?”

Luke leans back, shaking his head. No. _No._ He doesn’t want that at all. Ben picks up almost immediately on his sudden mood shift, always so in tune with Luke’s emotions, and rushes to cover the gap with a different suggestion instead of pressing the issue. “Or we could just go out for pizza?”

Luke relaxes. “Okay,” he says quietly, reaching for the sleeve of Ben’s flannel. He can’t undo the tiny buttons like he used to, giggling wildly when Ben would reach for him with the threat of tickles. He tries for a moment now, fingers clumsily scrabbling, but gives up. Ben watches implacably. “I’m working on my hands,” he adds. “The...therapist...gave me toys.”

Note to himself: therapist is a hard word to say.

“Are your hands good enough to eat pizza with?” Ben asks, nudging him. Luke grins and nods.

“I can eat toast,” he says proudly. Never mind that toast is light and heavier things slip right out of his hands. It doesn’t matter, though. Ben is going to take him out of this quiet house, just the two of them. It feels like when he was a kid and Ben got his driver’s license, and Ben drove him around for hours around the city.

“I’m proud of you, kid. Do you know where Mum and Dad are?”

“Went to dinner with Jack.” Ben pauses and frowns. He looks concerned, and Luke squirms. He hurries to diffuse Ben’s inevitable question. “I said...they could go.”

Ben is rearing to go, protective instinct kicking in. “They shouldn’t have left you all alone like this. What are they thinking, going out to dinner? That’s not right.”

Luke sighs and slumps down, looking anywhere but at Ben. He doesn’t care if they go out or if they stay home. When they’re home, they don’t talk to him much anyway. He just wants Ben to stay. “When do you leave?” he asks softly, pawing at Ben’s arm to keep his attention before he gets too worked up.

“Tomorrow morning. I can stay the night, though.”

Relief floods Luke. He’s not leaving tonight. “Yeah,” he says, hoping Ben understands it to mean _please stay the night. Please don’t leave me alone with them tonight._

Ben smiles and lifts Luke’s legs again, sliding off the couch before setting them back down. “You had dinner yet?”

“Not hungry.” Mostly, Luke doesn’t want to deal with the hassle of trying to eat on his own, and he certainly doesn’t want Ben or anyone else to feed him. His stomach is growling in protest, though. Ben rubs his hands together and starts toward the kitchen.

“Come keep me company anyway. Where are your crutches?”

“Cupboard under the stairs.”

Ben goes to the cupboard and opens it, digging the crutches out from years of sports equipment. He brings them over to Luke and waits patiently as Luke hauls himself up on them. Ben hovers, keeping his hand an inch behind Luke’s back as if preparing for him to fall. Luke fixes him with a disgruntled look, and he retracts his hand with an embarrassed smile. “Careful,” he says instead, hands twitching at his sides as he tries not to worry over Luke.

“I can get to the kitchen,” Luke says seriously, determined to do so. It’s scarier than at physical therapy, where he has the bars to lean on. If his crutch slips, he goes down. In the doorway of the kitchen, he trips over the tiny lip, and Ben’s on him in an instant, righting him. Luke scowls, irritated with himself.

“You’re doing fine,” Ben says softly, letting him go the rest of the way. He pulls up a stool and makes sure Luke is solidly settled on it before he starts making dinner. “Do you want anything?”

Luke shakes his head again and slumps over the kitchen island, chin on his arms. He hasn’t been in the kitchen since before the accident, just in the living room, the bathroom, and his room. It doesn’t look any different.

Ben rummages through the freezer for something to warm up and ends up dragging out a frozen Kid Cuisine meal. He sticks it in the microwave and sits down across Luke. “How have you been?” he asks seriously for the first time. Luke gets the sense that he doesn’t want to talk about the fluffy stuff anymore.

“I’m okay,” Luke says, tracing the marble patterns on the counter.

“Luke, after what happened—”

“I’m okay,” Luke repeats. “It happened. It’s over.”

Ben taps his fingers on the counter, clearly torn between letting it go and pressing further. “It was traumatic,” Ben says finally, looking up at Luke again. “Have you talked to anyone about it?”

“Nothing to say.”

“You almost died,” Ben says, trying to keep his voice light. Luke can tell it’s forced. “I mean, people don’t come out of that shit the same as they were before.”

Luke doesn’t feel like telling Ben that he’s right. He’d rather shove down the memory far enough that it doesn’t come back up again. He wants Ben to stop talking about it right now and never bring it up again. “Talk about something else,” he says.

The microwave beeps as Ben opens his mouth, so Ben stands up instead and pulls the Kid Cuisine tray out of the oven. He sits down and peels off the cover, setting it to the side. He takes a bite of the chicken nuggets and grins, giving Luke a thumbs up. “You’re missing out. These are some rocking nuggets.”

Luke smiles and shakes his head. Ben shrugs and keeps popping them in his mouth. Luke watches him eat, wishing every night he could sit here with Ben, just the two of them.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t...want to go,” Luke says, battling his seatbelt. He finally gets it to click in place and folds his arms, sulking. He’d struggled through breakfast, couldn’t hold a spoon to eat his cereal. His mother insisted on feeding him, no matter how many times he maintained that he would get the hang of it. He’d have rather not eaten at all than have her spoon the cereal into his mouth. He can’t even storm off to cry in his room these days, so he had to do it right there at the table, glaring through hot tears at the varnished teak.

His mother sighs aggrievedly from the driver’s seat as she starts the car. She looks frazzled, like she’s spent the day wrangling them to soccer practice and back. Luke is aware he’s being difficult, but his body hurts and he wants to crawl up the stairs to his room and stay in bed for the rest of the day. Ben left this morning, and Luke has never felt more abandoned in his life. He knows Ben has a job to do and can’t be home with him every day, but it’s not fair.

“You have to go,” she says, revving the engine and pulling out onto the street. “It’s just a couple of hours.”

“I want to go _home._ ”

“Luke, please don’t use that tone of voice with me. I’m doing the best I can.”

Luke huffs and puffs, fresh tears stinging his eyes. If he were the Big Bad Wolf, he’d be blowing houses down. His blood is boiling at the indignity of it all. He wants to curl up in bed and never show his face again.

“I don’t want to go today. I’ll go tomorrow.”

“The doctor said you have to go every day.”

Luke makes a drawn-out, whining noise and slouches against the car door, wishing he could clench his fists better. They curl loosely, and it frustrates him even more when he tries and fails to even be angry right. He can’t yell, he can’t clench his fists, he can’t stomp or go to his room, can’t even stop himself from crying every time he gets mad.

His mother shuts her mouth and stares straight ahead. Luke tries not to lose it right then and there, clutching his crutches between his knees and glaring at the blur of the city going past the window. If he could only melt right through the window into the blur, become part of the city landscape, he’d sink through the glass windows and leave his crutches behind. To be free of his legs entirely, just to blend into the sights that pass.

He refuses to let his mother help him into the building and crutches determinedly past anyone who tries the same. His blood still boils, and he stalks right through the lobby and leaves his mother to deal with the checking in. His legs stop wanting to do his bidding, so he slows, sitting down in the hallway with no idea how he’ll make it back onto his feet.

He takes a moment and just breathes.

He trails his fingers along the rough carpet, relishing the friction against his skin. It wasn’t long ago when he was lying in that hospital bed, not responding to the nurses pinching his fingers or his mother crying his name. Now he can touch. Now he can feel.

He just can’t _walk._

He sits in the hallway until someone comes to find him. Rian comes down the hallway whistling quietly and nearly trips over Luke’s crutches, which protrude into the rest of the hallway. Spotting Luke to the side at last, he smiles in relief and crouches, helping Luke back to his feet and onto his crutches.

“Trying to escape?” he jokes, hauling Luke up. Luke leans heavily on his crutches, frowning and panting slightly. Softer, Rian adds, “I heard you didn’t want to come today. Am I that bad?”

Luke snorts, humorless and too sour to joke back. “I hate this.”

“I understand. I think everyone does. I assure you, no offense taken.”

“I hate myself,” Luke adds bitterly. And he does, sort of. For getting himself into this mess, for the uncontrollable like his disabilities and his slow, almost invisible progress.

Rian looks at him in what seems like a brief moment of concern, replaced quickly by his usual expression. “That’s a bit extreme. Don’t be too hard on yourself. This is just the beginning. You’ve had in total a week of therapy. You’re going to have to be patient if you want to improve.”

Patient. Luke fights the urge to make a disgusted noise. He was supposed to go to _uni_ this year. Now he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to go. Especially not now that everyone _knows_ who he really is.

Maybe he’ll go to school in New Zealand, or something.

Luke hobbles after Rian into the room. Rian asks him all the requisite questions. Luke sneaks glances at Calum, wondering if his presence is going to be a regular thing now. Calum looks up once at the same time, and Luke looks quickly away, fighting the blood rising in his cheeks. He can’t tell why it is he hates that Calum sits in; maybe it’s because they’re about the same age, which means Calum looking down on him feels a lot worse than when the adults do it. Or maybe it’s just having someone else witness his failure.

“Let’s just start by warming up,” Rian suggests, probably sensing Luke isn’t up for the big stuff yet. “How about some simple leg exercises?”

Rian tells Luke to do some leg lifts from his position in the chair. Luke grits his teeth and sets about doing so. As usual, his leg starts to give out after a few, and he plants his foot back on the ground, lungs working and leg muscles aching. Back in secondary school, he could have done fifty.

“This is...bullshit,” Luke grunts out, leaning over his legs and panting. He shuts his eyes, trying to regain his composure. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Rian tells him, putting a hand on his shoulder and gently pushing his upper body back. “Try again. Go slowly. Aim for height, not speed or quantity. The point of this exercise is to strengthen your muscles. You’re not going to be able to do any more today than you were yesterday, or do more tomorrow either. You’re just training your muscles again.”

Luke wishes he could go back in time and feel what it’s like to run again. He wishes he could reexperience his last basketball game, before he graduated, before he came out, before everything fell apart. He remembers what it felt like to run ahead of himself, how he was always a step ahead, how it felt to push off the ground and jump high so he could drop the ball through the hoop. He could have played in uni, too, if he’d been able to go.

He spent the first few weeks of uni in a coma, and by the time he came home, it was far too late.

He pushes himself harder, throwing himself into the task. He grits his teeth and starts on the other leg, giving himself to the burn in his quadriceps. He grips the edges of the chair with his hands, trying not to let the feeling of failure get to him.

He’s frustrated, though. His muscles just won’t do what he wants them to do. No matter how hard he compels his leg to keep moving, it spasms and buckles and crashes to the ground.

Rian has him go through a series of exercises in the chair before letting him try walking across the room with his crutches. Luke gets to his feet with some difficulty, putting all his weight on his palms. Rian stands beside him, and gestures for Calum to stay a bit in front of him. Luke huffs and watches the ground in front of him.

“Okay, let’s move slowly,” Rian instructs, giving him the go. Luke shuffles one foot forward, leaning heavily over his crutches to lessen the burden on his weak legs. “Slowly, Luke. Don’t let your crutches get ahead of your feet.”

Right as Rian says that, Luke feels his right leg spasm and give out, and then he’s falling.

But he doesn’t hit the ground. He crashes headfirst into Calum with a gasp, who is ready to field Luke’s weight and starts hauling him back up. Luke lets go of his crutches, and Calum lowers him backward onto the ground. Luke sits there for a moment in the middle of the room, crutches still hanging weakly to his arms where the forearm cuffs catch against the edges of his hands. After a moment of silence, Luke rips them off and hurls one of the crutches as far away from him as he can.

“Fuck,” he yells, the sound echoing in the training room, and then spits it more quietly. “ _Fuck._ ”

He curls forward, covering his stinging eyes. Rian’s hand touches his back, and he flinches away. “I can’t,” he says, heaving breaths and shoving his other crutch away. “I can’t. Fuck. I’m a...disaster.”

Rian and Calum let him cry for a minute or so before Rian finally says, “It’s a long journey, Luke. Everyone falls. Everyone has those tough days. It’s really hard emotionally and physically to deal with disabilities. You just have to believe there’s an upside.”

“I want to go home,” Luke says, wiping his eyes and heaving a shuddery breath. He’s almost past the embarrassment of crying in front of other people, which he’s done more this month than in the last ten years. “Please.”

“Try it again,” Calum breaks in, speaking for the first time. Even Rian looks up, startled. Rian makes a slashing motion at his throat, clearly disinclined to let that happen.

“Calum, I don’t think—”

“You said you wanted to walk again. The beginning is the hardest part. Things are only going to get easier from here.”

Luke sniffles and looks up at Calum, startled. He’s hardly taking in what Calum is saying, too stuck on the fact that Calum wants him to keep going. How can he? He’s not strong enough. He’s just fallen down, for Christ’s sake. Would have broken his nose if Calum hadn’t been there to catch him. He’s always had people to catch him when he fell, his parents and his brothers. Whoever found him that night on the road out of town. But right now, he’s just got himself, and Calum and Rian. Everything’s different now. He doesn’t want to get to his feet just to fall again and not know this time if someone will be waiting with open arms.

Mostly, he’s just getting tired of hitting the ground.

“I fell,” Luke gasps, feeling like he used to when he got knocked down on the playground and everyone would stop to stare. He looks at Calum with betrayed eyes, wondering how he can be expected to keep going when today has gone so awfully.

“You have to push through,” Calum says firmly, unmovingly focused. “It’s just a fall. You have to get up and keep going. Otherwise, you _won’t_ walk again.”

Luke can hardly breathe; his nose is stuffed with mucus now and he’s confused, dazed. But he feels his determination set in again. Rian speaks up, his hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Calum, maybe we can play hardball another day,” he says gently. “I think it might be best for Luke just to go home.”

“No,” Luke says, cutting in. He reaches for the crutch that’s still near him. “I want to keep going.”

Rian looks surprised. “Are you sure? It’s okay if you want to stop for today.”

It’s the hardest thing in the world to take the other crutch from Calum again and let him pull him to his feet. But he doesn’t want to lie down and take it. He doesn’t want to let the world keep getting the better of him. It’s not fair for him to not win a few rounds in the ring.

He’s sure his mother has some saying about not doing things out of spite. Like, that it’s not the most effective way to get around your obstacles, that you get further when you do it for the right reasons. But _fuck_ everything that’s been thrown at him. If he has to walk out of spite, he’ll walk out of spite.

He falls a few more times that day, but even though just going across the room makes him feel like he’s run a marathon and it takes him ten times longer than it should, he sort of feels like he’s getting a leg up on the universe.

 

* * *

 

_It’s dark and hot inside the hood, and Luke can’t breathe. He’s afraid he’s going to suffocate before they take it off, and the tight hand on his arm has him breathing a little heavily anyway. He keeps himself very, very still, wishing he could shake an arm free just to reach under the hood and wipe away the tears that keep wetting the fabric._

_The drive seems to last forever. He’s terrifyingly aware of his surroundings, the voices in the car and his hands twisted hard behind his back. He’s lying on his stomach; he thinks he’s on the floor, because the surface is hard and he feels a foot on his back above where his hands meet. The pain in his shoulders is distracting, like his arms might come right out of the sockets. He’s too scared to keep track of the car’s turns. Too scared to attempt any sort of miraculous escape. Just, too scared._

_When he finally feels the car judder to a stop, he exhales sharply and tenses up. The foot on his back lifts and the hand clamping his hands down on his lower back loosens. He’s too slow to attempt to get up on his own, and someone is hauling him up and dragging him. Then he feels the hand on his shoulder shove and let go, and he’s free-falling._

_He hits the ground on his side, hard. It’s some sort of gravel surface, because there's a bit of give to it, and he’s instinctively flooded with relief when he realizes he didn’t hit solid asphalt. His senses finally return after the shock wears down and he flails briefly, trying to get to his feet before he even tries to rip the hood off. It doesn’t matter, because someone shoves him back to the gravel. He squirms, making aborted whimpers that are probably inaudible through the hood. His dazed thrashing halts abruptly when the hood is pulled away, and then he’s coughing and gasping in the freezing night air as the chill hits his red cheeks. He stops struggling long enough to turn his head and see, with a shock of clarity, who’s taken him._

_But he sees the bat swinging toward him, and the moment is shattered._

Luke wakes up in a cold sweat, tangled in the sheets with his heart pounding and tears still pouring poker-hot down his cheeks.


	2. when the lights fade out all the sinners crawl

Luke decides that his favorite kind of therapy is physical, and his least favorite is physical.

The vision therapy for the head trauma he suffered is a lot of strange games and exercises that he can do in his room. The vision therapist says that he’s doing well, but he can’t tell, honestly. The only thing he notices is the blurry vision and how his head hurts after he reads a couple of newspaper articles. But he only has to go once a week, which is a plus. The lady is very nice, but she’s also very old, and Luke has to fight not to fall asleep when he’s at the vision clinic. Speech therapy is similarly uneventful, although his mouth always feels exceptionally tired at the end of every session. He does those exercises before bed, but sometimes he accidentally on purpose forgets.

Physical therapy is infuriatingly frustrating and rewarding.

He still cries some days when he has to go, but he’s endlessly thankful for Rian’s patience even through his fits and tantrums. Rian is full of bits of wisdom and ceaseless reassurance that he’s no doubt picked up from years of working with patients like Luke—angry, bitter, and deep-down hurt. As many times as Luke breaks down during each session, he still has to come back the next day, and Rian’s gentle hand makes it just that much easier, if he can even call it easy.

And then there’s Calum, who is always watching with those unnerving, coal-smudge eyes, and always knows exactly when to push and pull. Calum is more involved than he should be, but he knows Luke doesn’t want to hear pity. It’s just so fucking _hard_ not to give up and let everything have its way with him.

The hardest part, mostly, is coming home. The house is full, and still there’s so much silence. When they talk, it’s hardly ever directed at him.

He spends a lot of time in his room working on his exercises. Sometimes, when he doesn’t even have the energy to do that, he sits by the window and looks outside at the dirty basketball hoop that’s been left alone since the attack.

He’s been watching for a while today when his mother knocks on his door and lets herself inside without waiting for a response. He watches as she comes to sit on his bed. He sits up, shoulder brushing the glass.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” she asks, starting off with an easy question. She folds her hands over her crossed knees and waits for the answer with a hopeful smile.

“I’m...okay,” he says slowly, dreading whatever inevitable discussion they’re about to have. Whatever it is, it can’t be good. He likes it best when everyone stays out of his room and he can leave his radio playing softly in the background, spitting out Nirvana and Pearl Jam and Red Hot Chili Peppers. It drowns out the thoughts he doesn’t want to think.

“It’s been a few weeks, and I’ve left you alone to give you time to recover. Luke, hon, I know that it’s not...an _easy_ task, but, your father and I want to ask if you’re ready to press charges. Against the people who assaulted you, that is.”

Luke has to try really hard to categorize everything she just said, like the fact that she thinks where he is now is apparently recovery (or maybe she just got tired of waiting) and how she thinks pressing charges against the men who nearly killed him is “not easy” (it could end with him dead in a gutter somewhere) and how she thinks that, everything said and done, he’d be ready to talk about it to the police, to a judge, to a jury, to a courtroom, when he hasn’t said a single word about it to everyone.

Before he can even try to muddle through the mess of words everywhere, he opens his mouth and stares at her, as if slapped. She flashes that same nervous, uneasy smile at him.

“No,” he says, sounding almost insulted, shocked. “I’m not...going to...press charges.”

His mother doesn’t seem to understand. Her head juts forward a bit, as if she didn’t hear him correctly. “Hon, you were almost killed. Whoever hurt you needs to be in jail.”

“No,” Luke spits, shaking his head. He should have known this was coming. He just didn’t think about it. His chest tightens at the thought of the risk pressing charges brings.“No. I’m not going to.”

She presses harder, as strong-willed as she’s always been. “It’s not really a matter of whether or not to press charges, hon. It’s more...when you think you’ll be ready.”

Luke remembers her corralling him all through his youth to do this and that, join a small footy league when he was a kid because it would be “good for his social development,” do attend and clubs and anything else she thought would help him grow out of his shyness. But she can’t do that anymore; he’s eighteen, and he’s willing to stand his ground on this one. He wishes he could speak faster, because his mind is racing and his heart is thudding a little too fast and he has a lot to say, but he’s getting used to saying a fraction of what he means.

“I won’t press charges,” Luke repeats, shutting down. Fear courses through him, lighting up his nerves. His skin is burning at the thought. It doesn’t come close to the kind of heart-stopping, lung-seizing fear of that night, though. Just maybe the next best thing since then.

When he was younger, he used to think fear was the butterflies in his tummy before he jumped into the deep end of the pool, even if his father was waiting to catch him. He thought fear was the stomach-twisting pain before he walked into secondary school the first time, even though Jack and Ben were always there after school to knock out whoever hurt Luke. He thought fear was the shivers as he waited to find out if he made the school basketball team or not. And if he feels like he’s burning now, fear that night was like being splashed with acid and set on fire.

His mother sighs and stands up, disappointed. “Maybe it was a bad time,” she says exasperatedly. She hovers, hesitates, looking around the room as if she needs a reason to stay. But pretty soon, she gives up and heads for the door. Luke’s heart unclenches in his chest, absolutely overtaken by relief.

He never has to speak about the incident again. He doesn’t owe anybody the story. He needs this all to be over. This waking nightmare warps and stretches and refuses to let him wake up.

He does the only thing that ends the nightmare, which is to go back to sleep.

He must sleep for hours, because he wakes up in the dark, his blinds still open as the warm yellow of the streetlight pours in. As he comes to, he realizes someone’s shaking him awake. He squints through the dark and makes out his mother’s profile, and Jack, behind her. Luke isn’t eager to leave his bed. His eyes droop, and the foggy haze of sleep tugs him away from reality. It becomes clear that she isn’t about to let him slip back to sleep.

“Come on, Luke,” she murmurs, stroking his hair away from his face. “You need to have some dinner. You didn’t eat lunch.”

Between the amount of effort it takes to eat and Luke’s utter lack of motivation to do anything, he’s been more than negligent about eating properly. He can’t bring himself to kick off the covers and get out of bed, but his mother slowly peels them back and jostles his shoulder again.

“Gotta get up, baby,” she says, turning on the side light. Luke cringes away from the light, accustomed to the darkness of his room. “Jack’s going to bring you downstairs, okay?”

“Don’t wanna,” he mumbles, pushing away her hands with limp limbs. He’s always hated the way naps leave him fuzzy and groggy for hours afterward, but it’s even worse now that he’s only at half strength to start with. He feels as loose as string. “Just wanna sleep.”

“You have to get something to eat. Just a little bit.”

Luke considers what might happen if he stayed in bed for the rest of his life and never came down for a meal. He’d probably die in a few weeks if nobody bothered to check on him, which given the state of things, he wouldn’t be all that surprised. It’s been a week of him camping out in his room when Jack is around to carry him upstairs, which means he’s missed a lot of lunches and several dinners. He hasn’t even attempted a meal with the family yet; he expects it will be mortifying.

Right now he’s too tired to argue.

“I want to stay,” he slurs, dizzy with exhaustion. “I’ll eat here.”

His mother looks at Jack, and then back. She sighs and gives in. It’s so easy to get his way these days. He thinks it’s a fair trade considering everything else that’s been taken from him.

“Jack, go grab him a bowl of soup from downstairs,” she instructs, nudging him toward the door. Luke almost sighs in relief. He sags back against the pillows, desperate for rest. Between physical therapy and the monotony of his daily life, he could sleep twelve plus hours and still feel tired.

His mother sits on the edge of his bed, fingers carding through his rumpled hair. She doesn’t say anything, too focused on soothing him to make conversation. She can tell he’s agitated, not the quiet patient he was two weeks ago. When Jack reappears, she takes the bowl of soup and ushers him away.

“Are you feeling sick?” she asks, brushing the back of her hand against his forehead to test for a temperature. Luke shakes his head mutely. “You’re not acting like yourself. Maybe I should put you in therapy. It might fix your mood.”

If Luke wasn’t so tired, he would bristle at the mere suggestion. He doesn’t have a problem with his mood. But he sits back and stays silent.

“Here, just drink a little,” she urges, bringing a spoon up to his mouth and hovering with the bowl under his chin in case it spills over the edges. Luke opens his mouth obediently and takes the spoonful. It tastes like tomato. He hates tomato soup.

After a while, she puts the bowl down and sighs. “I know I upset you earlier. I just want you to know that I understand why you don’t want to press charges. It could be a big embarrassment, you know? We’ll have to find some way to press charges quietly.”

Luke is far too tired to respond. He doesn’t even want to think about what she’s saying. The taste of tomato coats his mouth and he wants her to go away and take her soup with her.

“Why don’t you go back to sleep now,” she says, stroking his forehead with her thumb, the rest of her hand flat over his hair. “You have physical therapy in the morning. Sleep tight, hon.”

Luke sighs in relief when she leaves and pulls the covers back over his shoulders, stomach churning and mind still trying to wrap itself around every confusing thing she said.

 

* * *

 

“Come on, Luke,” Calum yells, always a foot ahead of Luke no matter how hard Luke tries to catch him. “Aren’t you going to get me?”

Luke looks up and gives him a dirty look. “You...keep...moving,” he pants. He fumbles his crutches forward a couple of inches, and Calum steps backward. It’s like being on a treadmill and never getting any closer to the space in front of him. “Stand still.”

“Come and get me. I’m right here.” Calum smirks, wiggling his fingers maddeningly. Luke scowls and inches closer, but closer soon disappears. Such a stupid game shouldn’t frustrate him this much. It’s all so unbearably exasperating. He wishes Calum hadn’t realized that provoking him makes him work harder, because now he has to put up with it every session.

“Just a little farther,” Rian tells him, staying close behind Luke. “Almost done, Luke.”

Luke finally gets to the end of the room, and just when he thinks he’ll finally get to Calum and step on his toes accidentally-on-purpose with his crutch, Calum sidesteps. Luke groans.

“Okay, that’s good for today,” Rian says, pulling a plastic chair out to where Luke’s standing. Luke collapses into it, relieved and tired. “Rest for a bit, and then go out when you’re ready. Rian makes his notes and Luke leans back in the chair, catching his breath. He rubs his legs, massaging the muscle to ease the burn of exertion. After a few minutes, he’s breathing easily enough to talk.

“Thanks,” Luke tells Rian.

“No problem. I’ll see you after the weekend. Remember to keep practicing.”

Luke heaves himself into his feet and starts for the exit. Calum follows him, always escorting him back and forth to make sure Luke doesn’t crumple.

Luke does consider, during these walls from the room to the lobby, what people would do if he just lay down on the floor and refused to get up. Would they physically remove him? Would they call the police? Would they ban him from coming back?

Luke can think of better places to lie down, and places from which he’d rather be banned.

“So, you sick of coming yet?” Calum asks, making easy small talk as Luke moves slowly along.

“Mmhm,” Luke says, focusing on not falling. He’s in a fairly good mood today, so he refrains from telling Calum that he makes it worse. “Sick a’ seeing me?”

“Not hardly.” Calum smiles and walks leisurely alongside him. He shortens his stride to allow Luke to keep up. “I like that you work hard.”

“It’s hard,” Luke states. The only thing driving him is wanting to throw a middle finger up at everyone.

“I push your buttons,” Calum states, with no apology in his voice. Luke grits his teeth.

“Yeah.”

“Because that’s what makes you tick,” Calum explains. “With every patient it’s different. Some people want us to be gentle. Rian’s nice to everyone. But you want more than that. If being angry helps you make progress, then be angry.”

Luke frowns, pausing and breathing hard. “But,” he starts, unsure, “isn’t it...bad?”

“To be angry?” Luke nods in clarification. Calum shrugs, laughs. “Everyone gets angry. See, the best thing about being injured is that you can be as angry as you want. You can swear and yell as much as you want, because you’re going to get a pass for it. And you’ve got a lot of anger, buddy.”

Luke wishes he could swear and yell. His mouth doesn’t work fast enough. He’s got a lot to say, and as soon as he can talk well again, nobody is going to be able to shut him up. He’s not angry, though. Calum has that wrong. He says so.

Calum shrugs, indifferent. “Physical therapy makes everyone mad.”

“How do you know?” Luke asks. He starts moving again, focusing on Calum’s voice. He’s grown used to the sound, the low timbre and his tiny lisp.

“I was a pretty good footy player in high school. I went to uni on a footy scholarship, and then a month into the season I tore my ACL. It took me off the field for seven weeks. I couldn’t go out with my friends, couldn’t play footy, couldn’t do anything. It made me so mad. Physical therapy makes you face your injury head on.”

“Sorry,” Luke comes up with.

“It’s okay. It was pretty minor compared to your injuries.”

Luke can’t argue with that. “I win,” he says with a small smile. Small victories. Calum pats his shoulder, a gesture of camaraderie.

“Yeah, you do. What’s with the good mood today?”

Luke smiles wider, moving a little faster in time with the burst of warmth in his stomach. “My brother’s...picking me up. For lunch.”

“Jack?”

Luke shakes his head. “Other brother.”

“You have two?”

“Name is Ben. He’s—” Luke tries to think of an easy term to describe him. Warm, kind, tolerant, loving, wonderful. The kind of brother who always gave him a push on the swings and gave him the bigger half of the cookie. More of a bear than a man when he grows out his beard. A safe place, a guardian. “My favorite,” he decides.

Calum snorts to himself. “I thought you’re not supposed to pick favorites.”

Luke is pretty sure that only applies to teachers and parents, but he doesn’t bother correcting Calum, because it would take too long to explain why Jack has dropped in ranking. Besides, he may see Calum every day, but they aren’t friends. He doesn’t need to justify himself. “He works,” Luke says instead. “I don’t...see him...very often.”

“Well, I hope you have a good time with him.” They round the corner into the lobby, and Luke half expects not to see Ben, since his mother always shows up late. But Ben is sitting in one of the chairs reading a newspaper, and looks up as soon as he sees Luke. Luke grins, immediately filled with joy. He can’t stop smiling as Ben looks up and smiles back, setting the newspaper down.

“Hey,” he calls, getting up to take over from Calum. “You look like you just ran a marathon.” He ruffles up Luke’s hair. “Are you ready to get going?”

“Yeah.” Luke turns his head so he can see Calum, giving him a genuine smile. He’s not sure if it’s because seeing Ben puts him in a good mood, or because he understands a little better why Calum is so hard on him. “Thanks.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Calum waves at Luke, and then flashes Ben a quick smile. “He’s yours from here.”

“Thank you,” Ben says warmly, and walks with Luke to the exit of the building. He holds the door open for Luke as he crutches through at a snail’s pace. Luke is almost overeager, tripping twice on the way to Ben’s car. Ben is there to right him each time. “Alright, kid, we should get on our way.” He holds the door open for Luke and helps him inside. Luke shoos him away when he tries to help buckle his seatbelt. Ben finally shuts the door and goes to the driver’s seat.

Luke listens with rapt attention as Ben talks during the drive. He doesn’t know where they’re going and couldn’t care less. They could eat out of the dumpster and he’d be happy, as long as it was with Ben. Ben tells him construction stories and a story about a date he had over the weekend that went catastrophically. Luke laughs in all the right places, pleased that Ben tells him all these things.

Ben takes him a gastropub downtown. It’s the first time he’s really been out since he came home from the hospital, excluding therapy. The claustrophobia of being at home is replaced by the urge to wander the streets the whole day. He can’t do it yet, but when he relearns how to walk, he’ll be out until the wee hours of the morning trying to drink in everything he can.

They get seated at the table and order rather quickly, which Luke is thankful for, because his stomach is growling. He’s nervous about eating in public and determined not to have to make Ben feed him, so he ordered chicken nuggets and fries, which he can easily grab and pop in his mouth.

“When are you...coming...home next?” Luke asks, jumping to the punch.

“Well, I’ll stay for a little when I drive you back home. Maybe stay for dinner, too. But I have a job in the morning, so I have to be out of there tonight.” Ben takes a sip of his complimentary water and kicks back in his chair. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah. Great,” Luke lies. His head is a messy swamp of ideas and thoughts and memories of things his mother has said, the things his father hasn’t said. The pressure of pressing charges or not, muddling through the tension of things unspoken, lying in bed all day—it feels like someone laid concrete across his shoulders and threw him into a lake.

“I can try to come by more often,” Ben offers, looking sympathetic and reaching out to touch Luke’s hand on the table. “If you need me, you know you can call. I don’t like you being alone in that house.”

“‘M fine,” Luke insists. “Don’t...trouble yourself.”

“It’s not trouble. I’m your brother. I’m supposed to be there for you.”

“You are,” Luke hurries to assure him. “More than...” He doesn’t even have to finish his sentence. Ben nods, lifting his glass up and tapping the bottom against the table, jaw tensing.

“He’s still got a pole up his ass, doesn’t he?” Ben says curtly. “I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.”

“Don’t. No use in...you guys fighting.”

Ben shakes his head, obviously displeased. Luke remembers one day when their parents were out. He was nine, Jack was twelve, and Ben was thirteen. Jack had teased Luke to the point of tears, and Ben had pinned Jack to the floor within minutes until he promised to leave Luke alone. If there’s anything that bothers Ben, it’s injustice. But Luke doesn’t want Ben beating Jack up, or talking to him at all. He doesn’t want to be the reason for them fighting.

“Dickhead,” Ben says softly. He keeps shaking his head like it’s on a bobble figure. “I can’t believe the way he’s handling all this. I mean, I get Mum and Dad. In their generation nobody talked about this kind of stuff. But I didn’t think Jack would take it that badly.”

“He’s...getting used to...me,” Luke says, not sure why he’s defending Jack. Maybe because, even through everything, he still looks up to Jack, still needs his approval. Because he’s less angry and more hurt when Jack doesn’t look him in the eye, and he’s holding out for Jack to get over whatever this is. Because he needs Jack in a physical sense, and now isn’t the time to be making enemies. Whatever it is, he feels the need to explain away Jack’s behavior.

“Well, let’s not talk about him,” Ben says briskly, pushing the subject aside. Luke is grateful. “How’s physical therapy going?”

“Okay. I guess.” Luke tilts his head, thinking about Rian and Calum. “It’s hard.”

Hard is an understatement. But it’s the easiest way to compact everything. He’s starting to understand simplicity.

“Your therapist seemed nice,” Ben comments. “He was awfully young.”

Luke smiles down at the table, remembering Calum and Ben’s brief interaction. “That’s the intern. He’s, um. Okay.”

“Does that mean he’s just okay or like...” Ben pauses for dramatic effect, a wicked smile spreading over his face. “ _Okay_ okay?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. Luke bursts out laughing, tossing his head back.

“Just okay,” he says, still giggling. “I don’t, like. _Like_ him...or anything.” He’s tickled by Ben’s ease in asking, the way he doesn’t think about it and how easy it is to joke togoether. “He’s...hard.”

“In what way?”

“He doesn’t...go easy. He pushes me. I—think he cares.”

“An extra friend never hurts.”

“He isn’t...we aren’t friends,” Luke amends. It’s the truth. Calum is just the intern at physical therapy. Just because he’s nice and knows what buttons to push, they aren’t really friends. There’s not much potential to be, either.

Ben tilts his head, acquiescing to Luke’s explanation. “I’m just glad it’s going well.”

“You...could say that.”

The waiter comes back with their food at last and sets it down in front of them. Ben digs in immediately, ravenously hungry. Luke learned young that if he wanted to eat something, he better get to it before his brothers did. Today he picks up a chicken nugget in shaky fingers and takes a bite. They eat in silence for a few minutes. After a while, they pick up the small talk again. Luke decides finger food is the way to go. Utensils are too hard for him to hold well, so anything he can hold in his hand is preferable.

Ben’s already signed the check when the waiter comes back to pick it up. The waiter looks straight at Luke and hands him a folded up piece of paper. “The gentleman at the bar asked me to give this to you,” he says, nodding politely.

Luke takes it, forehead creasing. The edges of the paper slip between his fingers. Ben gives him a questioning look, and he shrugs, equally perplexed. It’s not a normal occurrence, for sure. Luke looks toward the bar to see who gave it to him, but the only person at the bar is a red-headed woman who definitely doesn’t fit the bill.

“Maybe someone sent you a love letter,” Ben jokes, taking off some of the tension. “You might as well open it.”

Luke finally fumbles an edge away from the rest of the paper, and he pulls the paper open. It’s warped in a perfect circle, so whoever it was put their drink down on the paper. In the middle, written messily in thick black ink, it reads, _Watch your back._

Luke’s blood runs ice cold.

“Well?” Ben prompts, craning his neck to try and see what it says. Luke, who has been staring at the words for coming on thirty seconds now, quickly crumples up the note and stuffs it in his pocket. “What did it say?”

“Um,” Luke says, scrambling for something to say. “Just said. Hope you recover...soon.” He’s having trouble forming words like he’s just come out of the coma, and all he can do is look over his shoulder, scanning for someone who might be looking his way. Everyone is minding his own business, but the blood is rushing in his ears, and he can’t shake the feeling of a body behind him and fingers creeping around his throat.

“Well.” Ben clears his throat and nudges Luke’s crutches with the tip of his shoe. “I guess that was nice of him, whoever he was.”

“Did you see him?” Luke asks, straining not to let Ben see his panic. It’s that feeling of being dumped in ice water, total freezing shock.

Ben shakes his head helplessly, obviously confused by the entire encounter. Luke reaches down and touches the lump of paper through his jeans pocket under the table. It’s there, it’s still there. He didn’t imagine those inked words. Someone came into the restaurant, wrote the note, and disappeared before Luke opened it up and read it. Luke wonders if he sat there for a while, if this whole time he was in the same room as someone who swung a baseball bat at him, or drove the car, or pulled the hood over his head. Or maybe it was a stranger who recognized him, harbored the same lethal intentions.

His head spins faster than one of those carnival tilt-a-whirl rides, and his hands are shaking. He hides them under the table, knowing if Ben sees and reads the note, he’ll want to go to the police. He has to make sure nobody sees the note.

“Let’s go,” Luke says, his voice pitching slightly. He hopes Ben doesn’t notice. “I’m tired.”

“Okay,” Ben says, raising his eyebrows. “We’ll go, then. You feeling okay?”

“Good, yes,” Luke says, grabbing his crutches and pulling himself up on them. “Walk behind. So I...don’t fall.”

Ben does as Luke asks, and Luke holds his breath until they’re in the car and pulling out of the parking lot. Ben doesn’t ask about the note or the hasty exit. Luke waits until they get home and lets Ben take the burden of carrying him up the stairs. Then he pulls open his dresser drawer, shoves the note inside, and tries to shake the feeling that someone is out there somewhere, waiting to finish the job they started.

 

* * *

 

Luke doesn’t tell anyone about the note. It lies, as poisonous as a pair of prying eyes, in his drawer. He feels its presence every day, like its toxicity is leaking through the oak wood and permeating the air he breathes. It’s a reminder that brain trauma is the least of his worries, and something more sinister lurks beyond the four walls of his room.

It makes focusing in physical therapy even harder. Suddenly he remembers what danger feels like when it’s near, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to protect himself. He doesn’t know if he _can_.

Maybe he should tell Jack about it. He won’t think it’s enough to call the police. But at least he’ll know, at least he’ll be able to watch Luke’s back, at least—

Luke pitches forward, his crutch catching on the carpet. Calum is barely in time to catch him, and Luke cries out, sliding toward the ground. Calum tightens his grip and helps him sit down properly.

“Is something wrong?” Rian asks, noting Luke’s facial expression and the way he’s hunched on the ground, curled over his knees like he can make himself smaller and disappear. “You seem a little unfocused.”

“I’m fine,” Luke mumbles, trying to regain his composure. He’s completely distracted.

_Watch your back. Watch your back. Watch your back. Watch your back. Watch your back._

“Take a break,” Rian says, eyeing Calum carefully. Calum doesn’t disagree. Luke sits there for a minute or two, staring at the ground and trying to clear his head. He feels safe enough in the room, with Calum and Rian, but what about when he leaves?

It had to have been a fluke. Whoever sent him the note must have done so on a whim. It was a coincidence they were in the same place at the same time. If he was being stalked, they would have left the note on the porch.

He gets up and keeps walking.

That day doesn’t go well, and when Luke walks out with Calum, he doesn’t say a word.

 

* * *

 

It's unusually cold as the summer starts to pass into fall. Luke presses his hand to the glass and allows the chill to pass through him. The flower buds are shut tight to protect themselves from the cold, and Luke stays shut up in his room. He never liked to be alone before.

He watches the neighbor kids play in their front yard, shooting hoops on the half-sized basketball hoop that’s just too tall for their three-foot frames. They’re just children, not even old enough to be in secondary school, probably. He doesn’t remember his own childhood well, just snippets of important moments. He could fill a scrapbook with snapshots of his memories, but he couldn’t fill in the gaps.

Besides, a few years living a certain way conditions you to forget what came before. For instance, he has trouble recalling what life was like before last year, before everyone’s eyes turned into faucets and long before he woke up in the hospital. He knows there was a time when he and his brothers were like three different versions of each other, before they set themselves apart by the choices they made and the paths they took. They would have laid down their lives for him.

Luke unfolds the note for the thirtieth time and wonders what to do with it. Nothing, he decides. He’ll do nothing.


	3. i'll risk everything for a glimpse of accidental light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (some call it reckless, I call it breathing.)

Luke senses that the grace period is over when his mother sends him with Jack to the grocery store. He ends up stuffed in the passenger seat with his crutches while Jack drives along quietly, impassively. He’s sort of sulking against the window, trying to stay as far away from Jack as he can. He’s been doing his best to avoid Jack at all costs. Jack has done more than cooperate.

Jack’s biggest problem is that he walks too fast. Luke really hates him for it, and he can’t tell if he’s doing it on purpose or just to give Luke a hard time. Luke huffs, scowling at the ground as he follows Jack. They’re already moving at a snail’s pace, and Jack turns back and gives Luke the most unsympathetic look he could possibly muster up.

“Slow down,” Luke pants. “Jack. Stop.”

Jack finally drops back to Luke’s side. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m used to you being...faster.”

Luke sighs. He would give anything to go back home right now. But Jack slows down for him, so he guesses he doesn’t have anything to complain about. Jack pulls out a shopping cart from the racks and looks at Luke, smiling slightly. “Wanna sit in it?” he offers, and Luke can’t tell if he’s joking or not. Luke shakes his head, disinclined. “Okay, but you gotta keep up.”

They stroll through the grocery store at a leisurely place to humor Luke. Jack piles things in the cart, picking through the fruits and vegetables their mum sent them to buy. Luke notices right from the start that a couple of people stare at him a little too long, which is probably because of the crutches. They’re probably wondering what happened to him. He tries to think of explanations. His legs were run over by a train. His unusually large dog lay across his legs and broke a couple of bones. He was born this way. He’s trying to build arm strength. His buff, muscly boyfriend fucked him too hard to walk.

The last one makes him laugh out loud. Jack doesn’t ask what’s funny.

Jack checks the list and wrinkles his nose. “Eggplant,” he says, disgusted. Luke makes a similar face, not looking forward to eating eggplant now or ever. He’ll have to slip it to Molly.

“Tell Mum...there were none,” Luke offers, grinning. Jack grins back and nods.

“All the eggplants were mysteriously gone when we got here,” Jack says with a shrug. Luke smiles to himself, following Jack as they move on to the next section. They make small talk as they wind through the aisles ever-so-slowly. Luke spends a lot of time at the head of the aisles with all his weight on his arms, avoiding pushing himself too hard. Jack goes down each aisle with the cart and comes back.

Luke stands at the top of the dairy section, leaning on his crutches and waiting patiently as Jack picks out everything necessary. It’s then that he notices a pair of women his mother’s age looking at him.

He looks at Jack, who meets his eye with an uncomfortable look, and then he stares down at the ground. He doesn’t want to make things awkward. They’ll look away soon.

They don’t. He hears them whisper something he just can’t make out, but he catches the words  _ from the news _ and realizes, they recognize him. His stomach turns and he swallows hard. His face feels hot and he feels suddenly like everyone in the whole supermarket is staring at him. All he wants in that moment is for them to go away, and for Jack to take him home. But there’s nowhere to hide.

“Excuse me,” Luke hears Jack say, and he looks up, startled by Jack’s tone of voice. It’s harsh, clipped. He’s staring right at them, shoulders squared off. “That’s my brother you’re talking about. We can both hear you.”

The two women stop, caught in their tracks. They have the courtesy to look embarrassed, and one of them attempts to stutter out a response. “We didn’t mean to be rude, we just—”

“Apologize to him,” Jack interrupts, pointing at Luke. 

“It’s fine,” Luke says quietly, shaking his head. He feels even more trapped now. “Let it go.”

“It’s not fine,” Jack insists, refusing to back down. “And you should be ashamed of yourselves. You’re adults. He’s just barely turned 18. So please, apologize.”

Luke didn’t want to make a scene about it. But Jack has taken the reins now. The other woman takes her friend by the arm, turns to Luke, and says genuinely, “We’re sorry, hon. We shouldn’t have whispered about you like that. You have a nice day, now.”

Luke watches them go, half nauseated and half perplexed by the whole encounter. He looks at Jack, who is doing that thing he does where he stands with his arms crossed and his biceps flexed. Luke’s not even sure he does it consciously anymore. He’s seen Jack square up for fights a thousand times against the boys at school, often for Luke’s own sake, but never against suburban mums at the supermarket.

“You shouldn’t have,” Luke mumbles, like his mouth is full of marbles. He’s still shaking and he can’t remember what his speech therapist said. Jack scowls at the rest of the dairy section, back to not making eye contact.

“I had to. They were talking about you.”

“I know.” Luke feels shame like lava pouring over him. He wants to disappear.

“Let’s just finish and go home,” Jack snaps, riled up and ready to go. He looks half-embarrassed by the whole incident. Luke doesn’t know why. “Here. Take the keys and go sit in the car. I’ll come when I’m done.”

Luke accepts the keys and shoves them in his jacket pocket before making his way to the exit. It’s slow going, but he manages to keep his eyes straight ahead. He doesn’t want to know if anyone is looking or if Jack is watching him leave, thankful his disappointing brother is far away from him.

He tells himself to stop being so melodramatic and finally makes it to the car. By the time he settles himself in the passenger seat, Jack is already walking out the doors. Luke decides Jack probably told him to go ahead because it would save time.

If he could use his legs right, he’d crawl into the driver’s seat and stick the key in the ignition. He’d start up the engine and back the car up, and then he’d spin the wheel and get out of there. He’d drive and drive and drive and never come back.

 

* * *

 

If physical therapy ever had any sort of appeal, it’s long worn off with the novelty. It’s a rather unpleasant part of his daily routine. The only vaguely,  _ slightly _ positive aspect (which he’ll vehemently deny should anyone ask) of his sessions is getting to talk with Calum. It’s a relief to talk to someone his age, since he’s always been solitary and whatever few friends he had coming out of high school have disappeared. He supposes that he and Calum should be on a more professional basis, but he’s hungry for someone who understands, and Calum’s the only person around him right now who even comes close.

Even though Calum makes sure to be as irritating as possible, Luke is sort of grateful for his presence. He looks Luke right in the eye and actually talks  _ to _ him, not around him. Luke has always spent a considerable amount of time alone, but his disability isolates him. He’s starving for contact.

All things considered, today’s session goes pretty well. Luke only almost-falls once, and Calum catches him in time like he always does. He feels like maybe his hands are a bit stronger too, but that’s probably wishful thinking. It’s a good day, even if “good” is relative.

He walks out with Calum as always. It’s slow going, but Calum never complains. Luke jokes, “Pretty soon you...won’t have to walk me out...anymore.”

Calum laughs and nods. “If you keep progressing so fast, you could be out of here pretty soon.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t think I’ll be...gone for a while,”

“Your speaking sounds better, too,” Calum comments. Luke takes it as a compliment. He doesn’t speak half as much to anyone else except maybe Ben, so it’s not like anyone else would have noticed. But he appreciates that Calum pays any attention to these things since he’s got other patients to sit in on sessions with. It’s his job to care, but beggars can’t be choosers. Luke will take what he can get.

Luke is slowly learning things about Calum from their brief conversations, like the fact that he has an older sister named Mali-Koa whom he loves more than anyone in the world, and that he loves dogs almost as much as he loves his sister. He knows that Calum is 21 and moving through his last year of uni as a physiology major, and that he hopes to get a graduate degree in physical therapy and a license to practice as well. He learns that Calum is a passionate musician when he isn’t interning at the physical therapy office. He learns a lot about Calum, and Calum learns very little about him.

Calum opens himself up to fill the space, and Luke gets absorbed into his sphere. He likes learning about the little pieces that fit together and make Calum a complete person.

“What are your tattoos for?” Luke asks, turning his head for a second to look at the ink on Calum’s arms and where his shirt dips low. Calum points to the one under his collarbones and pulls the neckline of the shirt down to reveal it better.

“It’s the year 1990 in Roman numerals,” Calum explains. “It was a big year for me. I went to uni that year and it was the best and worst year of my life.” Calum moves his finger down to the beautiful bird tattooed on his bicep, with the letters  _ MALI-KOA  _ inked in fancy script underneath. “This one is for my sister, and I have my parents’ initials on my hands. My family’s been really supportive of everything I’ve done. We’re really tight.”

“I wish my family was close,” Luke says without thinking about it. He remembers his childhood in a golden haze, where everything was always okay and his family was picture-perfect and wholesome. Was it really perfect, or was he lying to himself the whole time? Did he know, then, that he wasn’t himself?

Calum stills all movement except for his pace. His expression goes perfectly neutral, balanced and unreadable. “Yeah?” he says casually. Luke thinks about what he just said and all the little invisible ties that link his statement back to the attack. “Aren’t you close with any of your family members?”

Luke purses his lips. He shouldn’t be saying this kind of stuff out loud.

“I’m close with my...brother, Ben,” he says slowly. “My dad is—he’s very closed. Like me. So, when everything—kind of exploded, he just. He didn’t talk. And my mom is trying to pretend I’m the same son. Jack, just—” Luke doesn’t know where to start with Jack. He never does. He and Jack have been different from the time they were small. Jack was the extrovert, and he and Ben were the introverts. But Ben thought about things a lot more, and Luke thinks that sometimes Jack doesn’t think at all. Maybe there’s nothing between his ears, just empty space.

“What about Jack?”

“He acts differently,” Luke says finally, deciding that’s the best way to put it. “Because I—” He wants to say,  _ because I’m gay _ . But even though Calum’s probably read the newspaper, probably knows, he can’t bring himself to put it out in the open. What if Calum gets weird and takes a step back? Luke doesn’t have another friend to fall back on.

“Because you what?” Calum presses, confused. “Because of your accident?”

“It wasn’t an accident.” Luke pauses his train of thought to catch his breath and then starts up again. “It was planned. They...took me. In a car. They beat me with a baseball bat. Then they left me on the road when...they were done.”

“I read the newspapers,” Calum says softly. He puts a hand on Luke’s shoulder, stopping him. Luke is going too fast, stumbling over his own feet. Luke heeds his warning and slows down again. His skin is prickling.

“I could have died,” Luke adds. He thinks about how many times he’s heard that. From the doctors, from his mother, from Ben. He tries to feel the reality of that statement. He could have died. His heart could have given out. He could have drowned in his own vomit. He could have bled out. His brain could have hemorrhaged past repair. He could have stayed out on that road until he froze. He could have died in any number of ways. And still, somehow, all anyone cares about is that he likes boys.

Calum doesn’t hear his inner monologue. He just nods and says, “You know, it might be good to talk to someone about this. A lot of the people who come through here do some sort of therapy on the side to...handle the emotional stress.”

“I’m fine,” Luke says sharply. “Don’t need any more...therapy. I’m in two others. I need...alone time. And sleep.”

“Maybe not therapy, then. What about your brother?”

“Ben?”

“You’re close to him, right?”

“I can’t bother him,” Luke says, frowning. He has Ben’s number memorized, but he rarely uses it. He’s afraid to guilt Ben into coming home again, afraid he’ll get in Ben’s way. He’s sure Ben has other things to do than listen to his baby brother mope around. “He has a job.”

“Then...” Calum sighs as they round the corner. “Wait for a second, okay? I’m going to give you my number. If you ever want to talk—”

“I won’t.”

“—then call me. I’ll just listen, if that’s what you need. Or we can talk about something light. Okay?” Calum reaches for the pad of Post-Its on the front desk and grabs a pen from the other side. Luke watches him. He glances toward the doors. His mother still isn’t here. Calum finishes writing and hands the Post-It to Luke. “Here. Just take it.”

“Do you do this...with all the patients?” Luke jokes, but he’s half serious. He doesn’t know why it has to matter, but somehow it does. He wants to know if Calum’s only being nice to him because he has to be nice to the patients, if Luke’s so desperate for attention that he’ll misread even that.

Calum smiles and pats his shoulder. “Only the ones who are as stubborn as you,” he assures him, and Luke takes that to mean,  _ just you _ .

“Well, I have to go,” Luke says lamely, even though his mother isn’t here yet. He grips the tiny square paper like a lifeline, unwilling to show how much it means to him. Calum smiles and waves.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promises. “Have a good day, Luke.”

Calum turns and goes back down the hallway. Luke unfolds the paper again and mouths the numbers to himself before folding it back up. He shoves it in his pocket, flops down in a plastic chair, and waits for his mother.

 

* * *

 

Ben comes home again on the weekend. He comes up the stairs just to find Luke, gives him a big bear hug, and catches up with him for a few minutes. Luke hangs onto his every word and tries to remember the smell of him, the feel of him. He can’t stay the night this time, but Ben promises he’ll come back soon.

It’s not long before their mother is coming up the stairs, knocking on the doorframe of Luke’s room and smiling at the sight of her two sons. “If you two are ready, why don’t you come down for dinner?” she says. Luke inhales, getting the smell of steak wafting up from downstairs. “Dad barbecued just for you, Ben.”

“Rad,” Ben says, grinning and ruffling Luke’s hair. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Luke, why don’t you come have dinner with us?” their mother adds, looking at Luke hopefully. “Since Ben’s home. It’s been a while since we’ve had a family dinner.”

Luke’s stomach twists. Already his lips are shaking and he smooths his palms over his jeans, anticipating the embarrassment that’s sure to follow. He moves his head from side to side. “No, I don’t think so,” he says, praying she’ll give in and leave. She doesn’t.

“I would really like it if you would eat dinner with us,” she says, more firmly. “You can eat as slowly as you want. If you want, I could feed—”

“No,” Luke says quickly, cutting her off. His cheeks burn. He doesn’t want Ben to see him getting fed. It’s bad enough just with his mum. He doesn’t need the last of his pride washed down the drain.

His mother looks at him pointedly, nodding. “Come downstairs, both of you. It’ll be nice to have the family together again. Won’t it?”

“Sure,” Ben says, answering for Luke. He pats Luke’s back as their mother turns away, a silent sign of camaraderie. Luke is glad that Ben is here at least. He’ll make the night lighter.

“I need you to, um,” Luke starts softly, tugging at Ben’s sleeve. Ben turns to him, humming under his breath and raising his eyebrows, waiting expectantly for Luke to finish his sentence. “I need you to carry me.” He looks down at his fingers in his lap. It was sort of okay when Jack did it since he’s kind of upset with Jack and doesn’t care what Jack thinks of him, but Ben, Ben is Luke’s sacred place.

“Okay, kiddo,” Ben says with a shrug. “How do you want me to do this? On my back?”

“Yeah.” Luke chews his lip, still not looking at Ben. “That’s how Jack does it.”

Ben crouches in front of the bed. Luke puts his arms over Ben’s shoulders, and Ben reaches back to grab the back of Luke’s thighs. Ben has no trouble hoisting him up, used to lifting loads just as heavy on construction sites. Luke rests his chin on his own arm where it lies on top of Ben’s shoulder. He remembers when they were younger and he wasn’t too tall to carry around. He’s a much bigger burden now.

“And off we go,” Ben says, marching out of the room and down the hall to the staircase. “You know, you could always sit at the top of the stairs on one of our old sleds or something. Slide right down.”

“I’d break my neck.”

“Well, that would be unfortunate, huh.”

Ben sets him down on the bottom of the stairs. “Where are your crutches?”

“Back in my room,” Luke admits, and then sighs, hanging his head. “Sorry. I should have...told you to grab them.”

“I’ll be back in a moment, buddy. Stay right here.”

“I can’t go anywhere,” Luke calls after him wistfully. He leans his head against the stair railing. He stares right into the kitchen, watching his mother finish prepping the food. Moments later, Ben comes down the stairs and hands Luke the crutches. He waits patiently by Luke’s side as Luke slips his forearms through the cuffs and then lifts one arm. Ben takes the hint and helps Luke to his feet and onto the crutches. He escorts Luke to the table. Luke sits down in his old dining chair, the same spot he’s sat in since he was out of his high chair. It’s the first time since the attack that he’s sitting at the dining table.

It feels strangely familiar and at the same time so uncertain that Luke feels lost. Ben and Jack sit across the table from him, and his parents each sit at one end of the table. He immediately wishes Ben had sat next to him for once. He’s all alone on his side, and faced with the impossible task of eating on his own. His mouth waters when he smells the potatoes and the steak.

Everyone starts serving themselves, and Luke sits still, waiting. Nobody seems to remember for a while that he can’t grip the serving utensils properly, and already he feels like he’s burning. At last, it’s Jack who looks over and sees Luke staring at his empty plate, too shy to ask for someone to serve him. Jack meets his eyes, and Luke nods, shame bubbling low in his stomach. Jack spoons him some fingerling potatoes and a couple of cuts of the steak, which is rarer than Luke usually likes. He doesn’t complain. 

“So, Ben, what have you been up to?” their mum asks, eager to hear about Ben’s life away from home. Luke tunes Ben and his mother out and grabs for the potato, his fingers slipping a little on the grease. He manages to grab it in his fist and shove it in his mouth. It’s messy, but still better than having someone feed him. He keeps his eyes on his plate so he doesn’t have to see if anyone is watching him.

He burns through the potatoes slowly. He considers just eating potatoes the whole night, but the steak smells so good, and he’s craving it. Looking around briefly to make sure nobody is watching, he grabs for the knife and fork someone left by his plate without the oversight to remember he doesn’t use utensils anymore. He grips them both in loose fists and spears the steak with his fork, trying to cut it into manageable pieces. His grip on the fork slips quickly. He picks it up again, gritting his teeth. He saws weakly at the meat, unable to dig into the meat hard enough.

“Do you want me to cut that?” Ben offers, and Luke sucks in a breath as all eyes turn to him. Mission aborted.

“Here, let me,” his mother offers, reaching to take the fork and knife from him. Luke jerks his hands out of her reach, shaking his head.

“No,” he says petulantly, clutching the utensils tightly. “I can do it myself.”

They all watch him uneasily as he takes a deep breath and goes back to sawing apart his steak. It takes him so long to make one cut that when he puts down his fork and knife and tries to ease the ache in his hands, his mother takes over for him.

“No,” he says again, but doesn’t move to take it from her. He feels defeated. He might cry. He swallows past the lump in his throat and fights the frustration.  _ Let her do it. It’s faster.  _

“There,” she says after she cuts it into little cubes. “It’s not so hard to ask for help, Luke. You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

Luke glares down at his plate, like it’s the meat that betrayed him. “Yeah,” he mutters, rolling his shoulders back in irritation. He takes the fork again and tries to stab a cube. The tines slip sideways and hit the plate with a clang. When he tries again, his fingers slide down the fork, too weak to hold it still.

The circus act continues for a while. Luke grows steadily more frustrated, and he knows his time to succeed is running short. He manages a couple of pieces, but overall, he knows he failed. He can’t logic himself out of feeling embarrassed by the whole situation.

Everyone’s done with their plates, finally, and he’s still futilely trying to work with the fork. His mother cuts in, taking the fork from him. This time, he starts shaking his head and leaning back.

“No, stop,” he says desperately, reaching for the fork back. “Stop, Mum. Let me—”

“Mum,” Ben says softly, but maybe he’s too quiet, or maybe their mother doesn’t care. She stabs a piece of meat and starts to feed it to Luke, but Luke keeps his mouth shut and keep shaking his head, tears pouring suddenly over his cheeks like a dam bursting.

“You have to eat,” she says, sympathy waning. Luke can tell she’s losing patience. “You’ll be here all night. Just open your mouth, Luke.”

“Stop,” Luke sobs, his voice starting to rise as he tries to push her arm away and she resolutely forges on. He forgets all his words except for the one. “Stop. Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop. Stop!”

“Luke, I am trying to help,” she says in her stern-mum voice. All Luke sees in that instance is the red-hot shame of not being able to feed himself, and he slaps the fork out of her hand, screaming for a final time,  _ “Stop!" _

The fork with the piece of beef still impaled lands on the table cloth between them, the sauce staining the pristine white tablecloth. The table is silent, and Luke listens to the sound of his own erratic breathing, the tiny sobs that hiccup their way out of his throat. He doesn’t know where they came from, but it’s a long time coming, a fit like this. Everyone stares at him in shock, surprised by his outburst. He doesn’t know what to do. He can’t get up the stairs on his own. So he just sits there, waiting for reprimand.

“I was just trying to help,” his mother says, still startled.

“Luke, maybe it’s best if you go to your room,” his father says, stepping in for the first time. Luke hates him, hates hates hates him. He only exists as his mother’s back up. She’s always been the stronger one, but he’s always been the kinder one, and now, when Luke needs him, when he’s listening for the radio signal, all he gets is static.

Luke laughs derisively, fisting a napkin in his hand and drying his eyes with it. “Someone...has to carry me,” he says, shaking his head.

Ben stands up, wordlessly rounding the table and hauling Luke up with his arm under Luke’s arms. Luke fumbles around for his crutches, most of his weight on Ben. Ben helps him get situated and then Luke begins the painful journey to the stairs with everyone’s eyes on his back. When he gets to the foot of the staircase, he leans on the railing and takes off his crutches, and lets Ben carry him up.

Ben sets him on his bed and puts his crutches down on the floor. Luke leans back against the pillows and stares at the walks, the ceiling, the tiny plastic stars that glow in the dark but are an eyesore by light. His breathing still comes heavily, and the soft skin around his eyes is damp. He wants Ben to go home now.

Ben sits down on the bed instead. The silence is even worse. There’s no way to salvage the night.

“That was rough,” Ben says softly, exhaling with a whistle. “You feeling okay, champ?”

“No,” Luke says bitterly, groping for the tissue box on his desk. His hand closes around it and he drags it across the wood, knocking off a few knick knacks on the way. He blows his nose loudly and sloppily. “I feel like the world...is upside down and I’m...flat on my face.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ben says with a sigh. “Seriously, Luke. Are you really doing okay? You seem really down.”

“Of course I’m down,” Luke bites, flashing with sudden anger. It tears through him, white-hot and bright. Everyone says the stupidest things around him. “Look at me, Ben! I can’t walk, can’t talk, I—Mum hates me! Everyone hates me. I can’t...do anything on my own. I’m missing uni. Of course I’m down. ”

Ben looks taken aback, but he doesn’t leave like Luke hopes. He doesn’t even raise his voice back.

“A lot of people struggle after accidents like yours,” he says, infuriatingly calm. “I want to make sure you’re safe.”

“It  _ wasn’t _ an accident. And why, so...you can leave?”

“Luke,” he says, surprised. He wets his lips and looks down at his hands, and Luke senses trouble in the slope of his brow. Ben is always levelheaded and easygoing, but he’s not above lectures and light scoldings. Luke prepares to listen to a speech about his attitude and his tone. “Luke, I’m just worried about you. Nobody else seems to be, including you. You realize people don’t wake up from being beaten with a baseball bat and carry on with their lives, don’t you?”

“If you were worried, you’d...stay home.” Luke’s eyes fill with tears again, and he isn’t sure if they’re angry tears or just deep-down sad tears. “You’re the only...one who cares.”

“I have a job. And you know that isn’t true. Mum is just—” Ben pauses, thinking about it. “She’s trying to figure out how to handle everything.”

“What about Jack?”

“He’s going to come around. People are coming out all the time now, Luke. Jack is young enough to change his mind about things. Mum and Dad are going to need more time. They didn’t grow up when it was normal for people to be openly gay. You just have to be patient.”

“You should go,” Luke says, turning away from Ben and sliding down in bed so he can stare at the wall. Tears drip over the bridge of his nose, across the wrong cheek, and onto his pillow. “Mum will want...to lecture me.”

Ben puts a hand on Luke’s hip. “Luke—”

Luke pushes his hand off and sets his jaw, raging with emotion. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

Ben nods to himself and sighs, standing up. “If that’s what you want,” he says, acquiescing. Luke’s whole torso feels tight, like all his organs are squeezing together. “Call me, Luke. I’ll be back eventually.”

Luke doesn’t answer. He grits his teeth and waits as Ben leaves the room, the door shutting softly after him. He pulls the covers up over his head.

 

* * *

 

“Hello?”

Luke twirls the spiral telephone cord around his finger, working the digit inside the perfect tunnel. He glances toward his door, praying nobody walks in. “Hi,” he says softly, shy. The sunlight peeks through his blinds and sheds light on his skin, making the sun-starved skin glow. “Um, is this Calum?”

“Yes, who’s this?”

“It’s Luke.” Luke keeps his voice low, nerves twisting in the pit of his stomach. He’s never been much of a talker, especially not on the phone, but his speech disability further deters him. He’s certain he’s going to run out of things to say. “Uh, from therapy.”

“Hey, Luke.” Calum’s voice changes, warms and softens. “I didn’t know if I’d hear from you. What’s up?”

Luke keeps twirling the cord and stretches his legs out on the bed, nerves making him restless. He might run out of things to say. “Not much,” he says, for lack of something juicier to tell Calum. He doesn’t want to talk about last night, but after Ben left, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being alone. He kind of also really likes Calum.

“I’m just getting ready for work. I’m seeing you today, right?”

“Yeah. Eleven o’clock. As always.”

“Good, good. How you feeling today?”

“Okay, I guess.” Luke clears his throat, still scratchy with sleep. “Things are a little...tense here.”

“Family issues?”

“I guess.” Luke rubs the flat of his hand over the jeans he just managed to pull on by himself. It was difficult, but he’d feel weird talking on the phone with Calum in his boxers alone. “Some people...are mad. At me.”

“Oh, yeah? Like who?”

“I don’t know. My mum. And Ben.”

Calum sighs on the other end. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s normal,” Luke assures him. “I spend...so much time home. It’s...bound to happen.”

Luke doesn’t tell him that he’s already been walking on thin ice with everyone, and that he feels like his own anger and grief is eating him alive from the inside out. Everything’s an unraveling mess, and Luke’s at the center of it all. He likes when he can step outside in his dreams, walk into a sunny plain and sit under the clear blue dream-sky. But it’s always temporary. When he wakes up, his mother’s still there, and everything’s the same again.

“You should get out of there. Have you tried going out on your own?”

“No.” Luke thinks about lunch with Ben and the note still crumpled in his desk drawer. He knows he shouldn’t go out alone, but he’s desperate to get out of the house. If he’s somewhere public, he can’t be hurt. He can’t stay home forever, or he’ll go insane, especially if things are like this all the time.

Calum says, “Do you want me to take you somewhere?”

And Luke perks up because, okay, that’s something. An adventure, even. He wants to leave the house so badly, he’ll take anything.

“Where?”

“Have you ever been to the rec center downtown?”

Luke knows where it is. He went there when he was a kid for swim lessons and summer camps. He hasn’t been since primary school, though. He didn’t even know it was still running, though he saw something in the newspaper last year about renovating some of the facilities. It’s not the kind of place he’d go for a good time, though. It’s the sort of place that little kids and old people go to.

“When I was young,” Luke says reluctantly. “Are you sure...it’s the best place...to be?”

“I go all the time. I know some people who hang out there. I go some Friday nights. Come with?”

Luke feels a little less apprehensive knowing Calum will stay with him and that he’s not just dumping him at some old people’s center. Calum seems pretty cool, anyway, so if he says something is worthwhile, Luke is inclined to believe him.

“Okay,” Luke relents. “You’ll...pick me up?”

“Yeah, sure. Tell you what. Give me your address today at therapy, and I’ll swing by your house Friday night. Sound good?”

It sounds better than staying in this house. Luke says it sounds fine, and then he puts down the phone to get ready for the day.

 

* * *

 

The rec center is a completely different place from the place it was when Luke came as a child. The facilities are newer and have that shiny, modern look to them. The Friday night crowd is mostly composed of workers from the city who have come to relax. Luke’s eyebrows knit together in his confusion. It’s not the most teen-friendly place to hang out.

“The rec center is completely accessible,” Calum explains to Luke’s right. “Lots of people with disabilities come through here. There are even some fitness programs for people who are looking for some supplemental exercise to physical therapy.”

“You brought me here to exercise?” Luke asks, still not one hundred percent on board with this idea. He’s feeling a little nervous to be out and about, even with Calum by his side. But it also feels good to leave the house and be somewhere other than one of the various forms of therapy he still has to attend.

“No, dumbass.” Luke is surprised by Calum’s choice of words, but figures that now that they’re out of the therapy atmosphere, he can say what he wants. Already he likes Calum more; he jokes around with Luke, loses the stiff formality of professionalism. He seems more like a fully-formed person. He’s got a leather jacket thrown over the white t-shirt he usually wears to therapy, and it makes him look a little tougher, which makes Luke feel safer. “We’re going down to the basement. There’s an elevator this way. Let’s go.”

Calum leads Luke patiently to the elevator and pushes the button a few times more than necessary, waiting for the ding that means the elevator is vacant. In a minute, the doors open and reveal the inside of a rickety-looking, grungy elevator. Luke shuffles inside, turning his nose up at the appearance. He feels as if the elevator ropes might just snap and drop them down the shaft. It smells sort of musty inside, too. Calum notices the face Luke is making and smiles knowingly.

“They haven’t taken out this elevator or redone the basement,” Calum says. “I don’t know why. They must have forgotten or something. But everyone turns a blind eye. Wait till you see the basement.”

Luke doesn’t have to wait long. The elevator stops, the doors open, and Calum stands in front of the doors to keep them from shutting on Luke. Luke trudges out of the elevator and into the dim, noisy basement.

It’s not a huge space; there are boxes piled high in the corners, like the room has been used mostly for storage. A quick peek at the dust gathering on the boxes confirms it’s been a while since anyone has even come down to store anything. There’s some loud, abrasive music playing from an old stereo in the corner, and the ceiling above creaks every now and then. Luke doesn’t know if it’s the water pipes or something more ominous. He tries not to think about it.

There aren’t a lot of people down in the basement, but Luke finally understands why Calum brought him down here. The people who loiter around, lying on dusty old couches, drinking beer and playing pool on the warped table in the center of the room, are all young, Luke’s age or a little older. A good number of them wear leather jackets, and Luke suddenly feels like he sticks out by not wearing one too. Calum blends in easily, relaxing in the stuffy, hazy room.

“Cal!” someone yells, hailing him from the couch with a grin. She doesn’t look like most of the girls in this town look like, with her sharp cheekbones and buzzed hair. Her huge eyes are rimmed with black and she wears bright red lipstick that makes Luke feel like a sinner for staring at. “You showed up!”

Calum grins and waves before turning back to Luke with a gentler expression. “The people here, they’re my friends,” he says earnestly. “They’re really nice. You can be whoever you want down here.”

Luke doesn’t know exactly what he means, and the leather jackets and dark clothing puts him off a bit. But Calum’s nice, and he trusts him not to lead Luke into a trap.

“Okay,” Luke says uncertainly.

“Who’s the newbie?” one of the boys at the pool table asks. He’s leaning against the table with his cue poised vertically between his fingers. His hair is jet black in an unnatural way, and he wears a piercing through his left eyebrow that glints in the low light if he angles his face the right way. He’s wearing a red and white raglan and blue jeans, a contrast with some of the darker looks in the room. He looks at Luke like he’s sizing him up, an amused smirk forming on his lips.

“I’m bringing my work home with me,” Calum laughs, resting a big hand on Luke’s shoulder. “He needs to get out and see the world more. I thought this would be the perfect place.”

If anyone recognizes Luke from the news, they don’t show it. Luke glances across the room, taking in the various figures. Calum points them out, one by one. The boy who asked who Luke was is Michael, and the girl on the sofa with the buzzcut is Ashley. A blond boy in a SnapBack named Derek chats with Michael as Michael waits for his opponent to take his turn. Everyone waves at Luke with a friendly smile as Calum introduces him.

“You want a beer?” Calum asks, gesturing at the six-pack that’s half gone. “Might loosen you up a bit.”

Luke feels completely lost, out of his limit and drowning in the frankly intimidating atmosphere. He’s already seen more piercings and tattoos in this one room than he sees in a year. He’s pretty sure his mother wouldn’t approve of him being here. He shakes his head in response to Calum’s offer.

“Luke, you wanna play me when I finish kicking his ass?” Michael asks with a laugh. Luke shrinks back slightly and shakes his head again, having yet to smile once since he’s entered the room. Calum rubs his shoulder soothingly.

“I know some of them look kind of frightening, but I promise they’re the best people I know,” Calum assures him. “Do you want to sit on the couch for a bit and watch?”

Luke finally nods, and Calum helps him over to the couch. Luke sets his crutches aside, trying to sit as far from Ashley as he can. It doesn’t work very well, since she sits sideways and takes up most of the couch. She isn’t paying attention to him at all, though. Nobody is. Luke finally settles a little bit, taking in the scene.

Michael lets out a groan from the pool table and sets his cue across the table, rolling his eyes. “You always fucking beat me,” he grumbles, and the boy he’s playing finally turns around, smiling in triumph.

He sort of blows Luke away for a second when he looks right at him. Their eyes lock together and Luke holds his breath, pinned in place by hazel eyes. He’s tall, formidable, and cuts a striking figure in the dim room. He wears a black bandana to hold back his long, caramel-brown curls, and combat boots that look heavy enough to crush Luke’s skull. Luke shivers under his gaze, waiting.

He smiles at Luke, a gentle and warm smile. Luke still doesn’t release his breath. “Did you want to play?” he asks.

Luke shakes his head rapidly. “I’m just...watching,” he says softly, but he feels more like the boy is the one watching him, like he’s strapped down to an exam table. At the same time, he knows that those eyes are what keeps him in place, so sharp they spear him against the couch.

“Okay,” the boy allows, nodding and turning back to the table.

Luke finally lets out a breath and stares at his broad back, completely caught in his wake. The boy pays him no more attention that night. Luke, on the other hand, watches him like a mouse fearing a hawk, half in awe and half in dread. For the first time in these dark months, something sparks inside him.


	4. please be the light that carries me

Luke can’t quite describe the way the boy felt. Like sunlight through amber, all warm colors and soft eyes. He’d smiled at Luke.

Luke comes home late that night. His mother is up waiting for him, irritated he was out for so long but reluctant to start another fight. She lets Calum help Luke up the stairs, watching suspiciously.

Luke lies awake in bed. The house is quiet and dark, leaving him sacredly alone. He can think as loudly as he wants. He closes his eyes and pictures the boy again, that smile that made Luke burn hot and alive like he’d taken a shot of something strong. He wishes he’d said yes when the boy asked him if he wanted to play.

Luke sighs and clutches at his heart. _Be still._

He might never see the boy again, if Calum never takes him back there. Whether or not he can stand on his own or play pool or talk to boys doesn’t matter if he never sees him again. Will he? He just wants another look at those gentle hazel eyes. He looked at Luke so softly, smiled so softly. He was so soft even if he was kind of frightening, anyway.

It’s a lot to think about. Luke pulls the covers up under his chin. It’s not like it matters, anyway. He doesn’t know how to play pool.

 

* * *

 

Luke wakes up a few mornings later to a folded piece of paper taped on the outside of his window. The outer flap flutters in the breeze. He frowns, hand still closed over the dowel that opens and shuts his blinds. He yanks up the blinds, snaps back the window latch, and opens the window far enough to stick his arm through. He works the tape free from the glass and retracts his arm, shutting and latching the window after.

He unfolds the paper. It says, _I know where you live._

Another one. He leans forward on shaky arms and peers out the window, scanning the yard for signs of an intruder who came in the night. The flower beds are untouched, the grass as green as it always was. The roof tiles under his window are perfectly aligned. There’s not a trace of whoever climbed up to the second story to leave him this note. His heart clogs his throat. Who is it? Who was it that night?

He dreamed about it again last night. Every time he turns his head back before the bat comes towards his face, he can almost make out the features. He can almost hear the voice.

Someone knows where he lives. Someone came here last night and stuck this to his window. Someone wants to send him a message. He wonders whether the latch on his window would hold if someone decided to open it right up. He pictures the silhouette of someone climbing through the window with a bat in their hand. His mouth tastes sour as he crumples up the paper and throws it into the drawer, tape and all. The notes lie next to each other in secret.

He checks his window latch twice before Jack comes to carry him down the stairs. Better safe than sorry.

His mum hasn’t said a word about the dinner fiasco. It’s like it didn’t happen at all. Calum was right. Everyone is too afraid to call him out for being angry. He would never have been allowed to make a scene like that before. Then again, he wouldn’t have needed to. Life used to be much simpler, even when he was closeted and shaky-footed. He feels no more sure of himself now, but he has more to think about than ever before. He can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel yet, doesn’t know when it’ll appear to him. In a dream, perhaps.

He’s still thinking about the notes when he gets to therapy. Rian debriefs him on his progress as always, noting especially Luke’s reports on how long he can stand and walk and his perceived dexterity with his hands. Luke honestly can hardly tell he’s made progress, but he supposes it’s so slow he wouldn’t notice. It’s not like he’s well enough to go to uni tomorrow. He’s on the quiet side this session, bogged down by the threats. If they’re serious, he should be watching his back. It’s hard to understand that someone, probably more than one person, is out there somewhere wishing him dead. He got away once with his life. The next time, he might not be so lucky.

“Luke, where’s your head?” Rian presses. Luke is walking between the parallel metal bars. He shakes his head and realizes he’s not even halfway across yet. “You seem distracted today. Is something wrong?”

Luke opens his mouth preemptively, wondering if he should tell Rian, whom he trusts. Sure, it’s not Rian’s job to field death threats, but Luke isn’t really sure who else to tell. He doesn’t need Calum to refuse to take him back to the rec center again, either. He ends up saying, “Sorry. I’m...tired.”

“Well, try and focus,” Rian urges him. “The hour will be up before you know it.”

Calum watches from the other side of the bars, dark eyes fixed on Luke. Luke hates that Calum always seems to burn right through him. He tries to keep his mind off the trouble at bay and focuses instead on walking between the bars. This at least he’s sure he’s getting better at. Getting across used to be too hard, and he’d have to pause in the middle and sit down. It’s difficult, but he gets to the end in record speed these days. Rian takes down some notes when he gets to the end.

“Getting better each time,” he murmurs. “I’m really impressed with the progress you’ve made in just a few weeks. You’re doing really well, Luke.”

Luke grunts, neither in agreement or disagreement. He’s afraid to be too optimistic about what he can do in case he overestimates his abilities. Still, it feels good to hear Rian say he’s doing well. “Do you think...I could go to uni next year?” he asks, hesitant to broach the question. It’s a long ways off from being a possibility.

Rian hums, tilting his head and making an unconvincing expression. “I don’t know. If you keep working hard and making progress like this I’d say it’s a possibility. If you want it, though, you’re going to have to keep your eyes on the goal.”

Luke can work with that. The promise of leaving next year and getting out of his house is enough of a motivator to keep him going for now. That’s the light at the end of the tunnel for him.

Calum walks him out afterwards as usual. He’s never been one to let Luke off easy, and sure enough, he asks, “What’s up with you today?”

“Nothing,” Luke grumbles. He’s not too keen on the idea of going home and seeing his family, or on going back to the place that’s in his stalker’s sights. The one thing this experience has taught him is that he has to do things he doesn’t want to do. It’s part of being an adult, he supposes.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Luke is pretty sure Calum will worm it out of him one way or another, so he relents fairly quickly. “I’ve just...got a lot on my mind.”

“Mmhm.”

“Do you think you could...” Luke starts, and then stops. Is it too much to ask up front? Calum isn’t his personal babysitter. Calum’s already done far more than Luke wanted or expected. “Um, do you think...you could take me back to...the rec center?”

Calum raises his thick eyebrows, surprised. He smiles. “I didn’t know you enjoyed yourself. You sat on the couch the whole time.”

“I liked it,” Luke says firmly. He did, in a weird way. He was too afraid to say anything to anyone, couldn’t stop stuttering when someone addressed him, but he liked the grungy music and the personality of the room. Calum’s friends didn’t exactly strike him the pious, rule-following type Luke has always been. He gets the feeling that people wouldn’t mess with them, and that he definitely doesn’t want to be on the wrong side of any of them, but nobody looked twice at his crutches that night. They treated him like he was normal, even if they did laugh when he got nervous. It’s something new to try, anyway. At this point he doesn’t have much to lose.

“Well. Yeah, we can go again this Friday. If you’re free, of course.”

Luke snorts derisively, catching Calum’s teasing grin. As if he has anything at all to do, better or not. “I don’t have a life, remember?”

“You’re a certified hermit.”

“Will you take me?”

“Yeah, I’ll take you.” Calum pats Luke on the shoulder, which startles him and nearly throws him off balance. “I’m glad you’re coming out of your shell.”

“And you don’t mind me tagging along with your friends?”

Calum shakes his head. “You’re welcome anytime, Luke.”

Luke is grateful for Calum, the one warm glow in an abyss of nasty circumstances. How did he get himself into this mess? His body and brain are all fucked up, his family wants to pretend part of him doesn’t exist, people are whispering about him in town, and to top it all off, the nightmare continues to haunt him. The notes will still be at home, no matter where he goes or how long he stays away.

Is it his fault? Probably a little. Not that he deserves this, but if he’d done things differently a year ago, he might have been at university with fewer cares in the world. But he can’t go back. Now the only thing to do is move forward the best he can.

“D’you think,” Luke muses, “you could help me work on...standing without crutches?”

Calum thinks about it before he responds, a reflective look on his face. After a short silence, he nods. “I’m sure it would help to do the leg exercises to strengthen the muscles, but you could probably just practice standing and time yourself. I’ll have to think of more ways to get you there, though.”

“Okay.” Luke is satisfied with that answer. They round the hallway corner and return to the bright lobby, where Calum leaves Luke every day. “Thanks, again.”

Calum smiles and waves, backing up down the hallway to go to his next session. “Call me if you need me.”

Another day of physical therapy, over. An endless number of sessions ahead. Luke trudges over to a chair to sit and wait for his mother.

She’s twenty minutes late. Luke doesn’t bother asking why.

 

* * *

 

Luke manages to find his way to Ben’s old bedroom. It’s mostly a game room now for Jack, who put up a TV and stashed all his video games in Ben’s empty bookshelf. Luke doesn’t come in here much, chiefly because he’s never been much of a gamer, but he figures it’s probably good for rebuilding his fine motor skills and reflexes. He grabs the one on top, the new Mortal Kombat. He’s only played the first one, but Jack swears Mortal Kombat II is much better.

He manages to set it up and grabs a controller. He plays as Johnny Cage and starts to navigate the levels. He dies within a few seconds the first few tries, unaccustomed to the gameplay and struggling with his fingers. They lag behind his brain’s commands. He doesn’t always mind, but in the game, a second’s delay costs him the level.

After wrestling with the controller for a few minutes in silent exasperation, the door clicks open. Luke doesn’t even bother trying to pause the game, seeing as he’s on a losing streak anyway. A blond head peeks through the crack.

“Oh,” Jack says blankly, staring at Luke. “I thought I heard something in here.”

Luke gives him a tight lipped smile and hopes privately Jack will go and leave him alone. Jack is practically an expert at these games, and the last thing he wants is for Jack to watch him totally screw up. He still hasn’t gotten over the embarrassment of people seeing him fail at the simplest tasks. He doesn’t want Jack scrutinizing how messed up his hands are.

“Playing Mortal Kombat?” Jack observes, inviting himself in. He sits on Ben’s bed behind Luke. Luke tries to contain his sigh. He drops the controller onto his lap, unwilling to let Jack see him play. “It’s so much cooler than the first.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Luke sighs heavily and tosses his hands up in the air. “I haven’t beaten the first level.”

“I thought you didn’t like gaming.”

“I don’t.” Luke doesn’t know if it’s because Jack and Ben, growing up, shoved him around and wouldn’t let him close to their games, or if he just isn’t thus inclined. As kids, Jack and Ben were much closer. They banded together against Luke as much as they fought each other. They were so close in age and senior enough to Luke that it didn’t take much to ice him out. Even as they got to secondary school and the size gap should have begun to close, Luke was always small for his age and easy to gang up on. Luke idolized them anyway. They both represented the characteristics he wanted most to emulate—masculinity, strength, confidence, charisma.

He’s nothing like them, though. Not in any way other than appearance. Still, coming out markedly dichotomized his family. On one side, there were his parents and Jack. On Luke’s side, there was just Ben. So perhaps in some way, he and Ben are alike after all.

“Why are you playing, then?”

Luke wiggles his fingers in the air. “Just figured it might help with my hands.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, that’s smart.” Jack peers at the screen. “You gonna play, or what?”

Luke picks up the controller grudgingly. He navigates clumsily on the first level, trying in vain to knock out his opponent. His health bar steadily decreases as he gets pummeled. Sighing, he watches as the winner is announced. It isn’t him.

“Raiden isn’t hard to beat,” Jack comments. Luke tries not to roll his eyes. “His reflexes are slow. You can use your special moves too.”

Luke lets Jack tell him what to do to gain the upper hand. Even with his delayed movement, he gets a little closer to surviving the level. After a few more tries, his hands are tired, and he lets the controller go. “I think I’m done.”

Jack, lying on his stomach, reaches over the edge of the bed and snatches it up. “Cool, I’ll play for a while.”

Luke doesn’t bother moving. The waning afternoon light filters through Ben’s bedroom window and hits the side of Luke’s face, warming just the one cheek. He watches Jack expertly knock out opponent after opponent; Jack’s played the game only a million times. Luke has never wanted to be good at gaming too, but right now he’d settle for having any skills at all. He doesn’t even know how to connect to Jack. They’ve never been interested in the same things. Ever since they were kids, all Jack was interested in was sports and video games and that sort of thing. The only time Luke felt like he had Jack’s respect was when he did basketball. He wasn’t ace at it, but he remembers Jack coming to his games sometimes, clapping him on the back the few times he made a shot.

“Don’t you ever get tired of video games?” Luke asks, his words making their way out of his mouth at a leisurely pace. Talking to Jack makes him hyper aware of the way his words sound. They’re slurred sometimes, like he got his mouth numbed at the dentist and it hasn’t worn off. They said it might go back to normal in time.

“Mm, nope. If you’d let me teach you you might actually get somewhere with it.”

Truth be told, Luke has zero interest in playing the game more than a couple of minutes just to exercise his hands. He has, if possible, even less interest in letting Jack teach him. He says, “I don’t want...to learn.”

“Hm,” Jack says, the kind of noise that Luke really can’t decipher the meaning of. “I wish you weren’t so boring. Ben used to play video games with me.”

“We used to talk,” Luke says, trying to keep his ground. It’s not that he really wants Jack to like him, anyway. They’ve never been close at all. It’s just that Luke has never gotten over the childish wish that Jack might someday respect him, be proud of him. “About basketball. We talked, about—”

“Ever since you turned gay I don’t even know what to say to you,” Jack says, cutting Luke’s off hopeful stuttering. It feels out of the blue, but practiced, like he’s thought about it before. Like it didn’t come up in the moment. Luke’s mouth flutters open, and he knows he should close it except he just doesn’t. He feels his heart palpitate angrily, shamefully. Jack is still playing on the screen, but he’s making stupid mistakes now. Luke wants him to take it back.

“I didn’t—” Luke starts, but his voice is high and breathy and tight. He flattens his palms over his thighs and tries to get himself together. He doesn’t even know what to say. He suddenly doesn’t want to defend himself even though he’s angry. He feels small, mostly. His whole body is tense and aching.

“Didn’t what?” Jack challenges, his tone soft but maybe dangerous in a way Luke can’t understand. Luke wants to leave. His body is hot and his stomach is cold. “I just don’t get it, okay? You don’t look gay, or act gay.”

“I don’t— _look_ gay?” Luke repeats in disbelief. “What...does gay look like?”

Jack stares at him. Luke tries to read the look on his face as confused and conflicted, but he’s afraid all it is, is cold. “I don’t know. I don’t know any gays.”

“You know me.”

“But you’re—” Jack stops and squints at Luke, like he sees the world through a different filter than Luke does. “You weren’t gay when we were kids. I know you didn’t like to rough around, but just because you’re a little delicate doesn’t mean you’re homo.”

Luke wishes he could articulate it all, from the moment he realized he would never like girls the way he was supposed to all the way back to when he was a kid, all the signs he ignored and the constant subconscious gut feeling that he was just intrinsically different from the other kids. But his stomach is in knots and it’s messing with his mouth, and he just wants out of the conversation as fast as possible.

“I am gay,” Luke says as firmly as he can even though his voice shimmers with the threat of tears. “I didn’t...wake up one day as...a different person. It was always there. Whether you...knew it or not.”

Jack still doesn’t look away, frighteningly focused on Luke. To Luke’s surprise, the hard lines of his face soften into genuine confusion. “But—when did you know? How did you know?”

Luke shrugs helplessly. He doubts even if he explains it Jack won’t understand, even though he can’t wrap his head around what’s not to understand. It’s not like Jack didn’t know gay people existed. It doesn’t seem like a hard concept to grasp, but maybe Luke isn’t trying hard to explain it.

“I guess I...I always felt something was missing,” he describes, trying to remember what life was like before he had a word for himself and before he thought telling his family practically the day he turned 18 was a good idea. “When I was a kid, and you—and Ben—talked about liking...girls, I could never understand what you meant. I thought it would come. But...it didn’t.”

“Maybe you’re a late bloomer.”

“No. No, that’s not it.” Luke racks his brain for something concrete to make it clear to Jack. “I used to read your superhero comics and wish...that I could be in the comic wherever Lois Lane or...Mary Jane was.”

“Like, be a girl in the comic?” Jack says, forehead creasing. Luke hurries to correct himself, realizing the ambiguity leaves much to interpretation.

“No, no. I just— _I_ wanted to end up with the hero in the end. I’d go to bed and—picture Spider-man swinging into my bedroom through my window. And then he’d...pick me up and we would go off together.” Luke doesn’t say that the thought used to take his breath away and wake up the butterflies asleep in his stomach. He doesn’t tell Jack he used to trace the panels of the male heroes kissing their swooning girls and think about how romantic and strong they looked.

Jack digests the information, nodding involuntarily like a bobble head. Luke waits for him to say something that indicates he gets it. Eventually, he says, “I don’t really understand how you could feel that way for another guy.  And, like.” Jack pauses and licks his lip, looking disgruntled for a moment. “How would you even have sex?”

Luke chokes on his own spit and coughs a few times. “Uh. God. I don’t want to...that’s my business.”

“Tell me,” Jack whines, looking genuinely embarrassed.

Luke feels suddenly relieved, knowing that something so simple as sex is motivating some of this from Jack. Talking about sex is such a _Jack_ thing, anyway. “Maybe another day,” he says, fighting a smile.

“But you’ve had sex,” Jack clarifies. “With, like, other guys?”

Luke flushes so hot it’s like the summer solstice in the room. He _definitely_ doesn’t want to talk about that with Jack. “Uh, yeah.”

“I always thought you were a virgin,” Jack confesses, bewildered. “I guess we really haven’t talked in a long time.”

“Ever,” Luke corrects him gently. “I...wouldn’t have told you about...my sexual experiences, anyway. I’m not like you. I...like having some secrets. Believe me. You wouldn’t want to know.”

“I do, but at the same time I don’t,” Jack agrees, wrinkling his nose. “Okay. I won’t ask about it.”

“Thank you.” Luke sighs in relief. All things considered, the conversation could have gone a lot worse. Jack listened, which is the biggest surprise. It’s a stretch to say he and Jack are okay now—Luke knows things will be uncomfortable for a long time, maybe always—but he feels somehow that the gap has closed just a little. If Jack is willing to listen, then he might be willing to change his mind.

“Just for the record,” Jack says abruptly, “even though we don’t really see eye to eye, and I still don’t completely understand, if I ever catch the guys who tried to kill you, I’m going to beat the shit out of them.”

Luke exhales too far, feels the pressure in his chest flare up at the lack of oxygen. “You’ll go to jail.”

“I don’t care,” Jack says, jaw rigid. “They’ll pay if I have anything to do with it.”

Luke shivers. He doesn’t want anyone dead or Jack in jail, but even he has to admit. It would be nice to sleep at night, just for once.

 

* * *

 

Ever since the attack, the house has been quiet in terms of visitors. Luke’s mum used to like to have people over, but apart from the few neighbors who brought food over when Luke came home from the hospital, the only outside person to come to the house was Calum. When the doorbell rings, he doesn’t move from the couch, allowing his mother to get the door. She sounds surprised when she says, “Hello.”

A familiar voice from outside says politely, “We came to see Luke. Is he home?”

Luke’s eyes snap wide open at the mention of his name. He strains to hear the rest of the conversation, hesitant to pick up his crutches but curious about the visitors and the nature of their visit. He hears his mother say, “Yes, he’s here. I’ll get him. Or—actually, why don’t you come inside? He’s in the living room, just around the corner.”

Luke tenses and braces himself to see people he probably doesn’t want to see. He still isn’t ready for people to see him in this state. Around the corner, three boys appear. Luke recognizes them immediately. They were all on the basketball team with Luke in secondary school. Luke tries to remember all of their names.

“Hey, man,” Roy, or who Luke thinks is Roy, says. “We heard about your accident.” _It wasn’t an accident_ , Luke corrects in his head, but he refrains from saying anything out loud. “That sucks, dude.”

Luke peers at Roy, curious most about how far he’s come since high school. His blond hair is sort of stringy and long, hanging limply about his shoulders. His eyes are still as blue as Luke remembers, but his lean frame has bulked up a bit since secondary. “Yeah,” Luke says dumbly. It’s weird to see Roy standing in his living room when they only ever got together in the locker room when the rest of the team had gone home. He knows the other boys can’t tell from a glance, but he feels naked.

“Yeah, I couldn’t believe it when I read the news,” Cameron says, shaking his head sympathetically. “These things don’t happen to people you know.”

Ryan says nothing. Roy picks up in the silence. “So, like, what’s the diagnosis?”

Luke shifts on the couch, uncomfortable. “Um, I’m pretty stationary. I...can’t talk too well, and—it kind of fucked up my brain. But they said...it might go away after some time.”

“Are you going to have a trial?” Ryan asks, not quite looking at Luke. Luke frowns. “Do you know who it was?”

“No,” Luke says, maybe a little too fast. It’s true, though. Even if it wasn’t he’d never let the name leave his lips. For now he doesn’t have to worry about it. “I’m just...going to let it go.”

“Yeah, probably best,” Ryan says, scuffing his toe against the carpet. Luke can’t stop staring at him, perplexed.

“Uh.”

“Luke, maybe when you get a little better we can play some basketball together,” Cameron says, looking at the crutches lying by the couch. Luke honestly can’t remember how he used to feel about Cameron, but he’s acting the least standoffish, so Luke warms up to him a little.

“Don’t think so,” Luke says lightly. “It’ll be a while.”

“Well, I’m free whenever you feel up to it.”

Luke remembers basketball with them, racing down the court side with the ball in his hands and out of it the whole length. He remembers the ball taken from him, remembers when it wasn’t, and remembers seeing their younger faces between the shoulders of his opponents. He remembers making shots. He remembers when that one ass on the other team shoved him straight to the ground and gave him a concussion. The headache was nothing like the hammering pain of waking up on that road out of town with his head split right open.

They were his teammates before that. Before they knew he’d been attacked for liking men.

And Roy. Roy was something to him. But not anymore.

The thing is, he sort of misses them in a weird way, but not because they were ever really friends. They’re just a remnant of his old life. He can’t play basketball anymore. He might never be able to again.

“Thanks for coming by,” Luke says in a way that feels final.

He sees them out on his crutches. Ryan seems eager to go, and Cameron tags obediently along behind him. Roy lingers on the doorstep, letting them go on ahead. Luke doesn’t feel right kicking him out, so he says nothing.

“It’s really great to see you again,” Roy says with a smile. “I’m sorry about what happened to you. It’s such a shame.”

“Yes,” Luke agrees blankly. “It is.”

“You’re really not going to press charges?” Roy asks. Luke tilts his head. There’s something about Roy that he can’t quite place. He’s changed. His shoulders don’t completely relax. Luke supposes that if he were the one meeting his former half-lover, he would be as uneasy. He shakes his head.

“No,” Luke says with a shrug. “Can’t remember him anyway.”

 

* * *

 

Calum picks Luke up later that day. He comes up to Luke’s room and knocks on the door, not bothering to wait for an answer before he comes inside. Luke doesn’t tell him that the only person who’s allowed to do that is Ben. He decides to let it go anyway.

“Ready to get going?” Calum asks, lounging in the doorway. He peers around Luke’s room, taking it in properly for the first time. The only other time he saw it, Luke was half asleep and his only goal was to get Luke into bed before Luke lost his footing completely. Now he takes the time to absorb the little details. He crosses to Luke’s desk and looks down at the opened yearbook. It’s from Luke’s Year 11. The book is open to page 43, the shot of the basketball team. Luke’s there, standing in the back row in his baggy jersey. Luke can’t see from his bed, but he can see, picture perfect, Roy’s thin arm slung over his shoulders. “Wow. Is that you? You look so young.”

It was two years ago. Luke can’t believe how much has changed. “Yeah.”

“Your hair was so short,” Calum muses. “When was this taken?”

“Two years back.” Luke slides to the edge of the bed, disinterested in continuing the conversation. His hair had been much shorter then, cropped close to his skull. It’s longer now, lying flat against his head and curling slightly at the ends. It hides his scarred scalp where they had to stitch his skin back together. “We leaving?”

“Yeah, sure.” Calum pulls back from the yearbook. “I didn’t know you played basketball.”

“Don’t anymore.” Luke lets Calum tie on his shoes and hooks his arms into his crutches. “Let’s go.”

“Okay, okay.” Calum helps Luke put his weight on the crutches and then walks him out of the room. Luke can tell Calum tied his shoes a little too tightly, but it’ll loosen during the night anyway.

“Um, can you help?” Luke asks, hesitating at the top of the stairs.

“Yeah, like, carry you?”

“No, I—” Luke looks down the imposing length of the stairs. He can do it. He’s been doing his exercises and working on walking. “Can you just...support me?”

Calum nods and moves to slide his arm around Luke’s back and under his arms. Luke knows if he slips Calum can haul him back up. Still, he’s never attempted to go down the stairs on his own two feet. What if he falls? What if he hurts himself again? Or humiliates himself?

Calum senses Luke’s doubts. “You sure, buddy?” he asks, patting Luke’s shoulder with his outside hand. “I can carry you if you want.”

“You’ll catch me, right?” Luke says, looking up at Calum. Calum smiles down at him, confident and sure. Like he knows something Luke doesn’t.

“I’ll catch you,” Calum confirms.

Luke puts his crutch down on the next step and shuffles his foot down. He pitches forward a little too far and Calum is quick to pull him back. He pauses right there, one foot on the landing and one on the stair. When his heart stops wildly pounding, he brings his other foot down. Calum keeps his arm solidly around Luke’s waist until Luke tries to move again. The stairs have never seemed so steep; he sucks in a breath.

“You can do it,” Calum murmurs. “Keep your eyes on the goal. Slowly, now.”

Luke grinds his teeth together, arms shaking with the effort to keep himself upright without falling face first. Calum keeps him steady, the muscles in his arm flexing to support Luke’s weight. It takes a long time, but finally, Luke reaches the bottom of the stairs and gets both his feet on the landing. He exhales in a rush and stares at the solid ground.

“There you go,” Calum says proudly. “Good job. Wait until we tell Rian on Monday.”

Luke looks back up at the stairs in disbelief. They look mountainous. How did he not fall on his face? Maybe it’ll be possible to go to uni next year after all. If he could just do it without Calum’s help, and ten times faster. It’s just a flight of stairs, and he can’t get back up them. He can’t get ahead of himself.

They walk out to the car. Luke takes a deep breath, tries not to get too excited, and switches his focus instead to the night ahead. If he can just get through it without embarrassing himself in front of the golden boy or getting pass-out drunk to forget about the notes in his drawer and the messy, tangled strings between him and every member of his family, it’ll be a miracle.


	5. addicted to your light

Saturday morning, Calum surprises Luke by showing up at the front door. Luke is still in bed when he comes, and by the time Luke finally manages to sit up, Calum is whisking him out of bed, into real clothes, and out the door. Luke is still half asleep when Calum gets him into the car. He’s surprised not only by Calum’s appearance, but by his mother’s willingness to let him go. It’s for the best; half the time when they see each other it’s when she comes up to his room to give him food. The dinner nightmare chopped right through the splintered wood.

Luke leans against the window of Calum’s car, still clinging to sleep. Calum drives steadily, humming lightly as he changes lanes and takes turns. Luke finally gets up the courage to ask, “Where are we going?”

“To the beach. I thought you could use a vacation.”

Luke perks up. He loves the beach, always has. He figures as an Australian, it’s got to be genetic. He never did get the hang of surfing, but he loves the sound of the ocean and the warm sand. He hasn’t been for a while. “Why?”

“Well, to be honest, I have something in mind,” Calum admits. Sneaky bastard. “I promise it’s nothing ominous. But we’ll have fun, too. C’mon, I’ll buy you an ice cream cone?”

Luke doesn’t want to do work, least of all physical, on a weekend, when he’s supposed to have a break. If he goes to the beach, he wants to lie there in the sand and let the sun burn up his paper-white skin. It’ll be worth it. But he doesn’t have the heart to tell Calum no. He nods. “Two scoops. Chocolate.”

“You got yourself a deal.”

Luke, preparing himself for sandy shores, is confused when the car stops in front of a small apartment complex. The street is full of dingy, small houses with graffitied fences. It feels like another place Luke shouldn’t be. “Why are we here?”

“We’re picking up Michael and Ashton.”

Luke frowns. Ashton. He mouths the name, trying to recall who Ashton is. Calum turns off the engine and slips out of the car, shutting the door and walking up to the apartment building. He climbs the stairs to a door near the top and disappears inside the building, leaving Luke to mull it over by himself in the car. His stomach clenches at the thought of spending the day with two people he didn’t plan to meet today. It’s hard enough socializing one day a week. He’s only just gotten comfortable with Calum, but his friends are something else entirely. He remembers Michael, though. Michael was nice to him.

It’s not long before Calum reemerges, this time with two other men in tow. One is Michael, clearly visible with his pitch-dark hair, and the other is—

Shit. It’s _him_. That’s who Ashton is. Luke bangs the back of his head against the headrest in exasperation, wincing at the jolt to his healing skull. Luke can barely speak around him. He just hopes Ashton doesn’t ask him any direct questions. Shortly, the three of them appear at the car and clamber in. Michael sits behind Luke, which eases some of his worries. If Ashton had been behind him he wouldn’t have been able to breathe. As Calum turns on the engine, Luke forces himself to look out the window. He sees Michael’s face in the side mirror.

“Hey, Luke!” Michael enthuses. He thumps the back of Luke’s seat, jarring Luke slightly. “I didn’t know you were coming today. You like the beach?”

“Sorta,” Luke mumbles, feeling shy as he always does. Michael laughs to himself. None of them are really dressed for the beach, he notices, but at least he isn’t out of place. They’ve ditched their leather jackets in favor of various black outerwear that’s only a touch more suited for the beach. They’re obviously committed to their aesthetic.

“Mike and I are going to go down to the lighthouse. You coming?”

Calum glances over at Luke’s legs. Luke saves him the trouble of saying no. He might as well just say it himself. “I can’t,” he says.

“Right,” Ashton says immediately. “We won’t go, then.”

“No, no, you guys should go,” Calum urges. “Luke and I have things to do, anyway.”

“Luke, you gotta let me teach you how to play pool,” Michael begs. Luke squirms, feeling uneasy about the attention. He definitely can’t play pool. He doesn’t feel like reminding Michael that he’s got two messed up legs and his hands won’t hold a thin cue stick. His hand-eye coordination isn’t half of what it was before, either, although pool might actually help with that. Michael barrels on, oblivious to Luke’s discomfort. “It’ll be fun to play you.”

“You mean beat his ass,” Ashton snorts, leaning back with his arms crossed. “You just want someone who sucks more than you. Leave the teaching to me. I’ll teach him how to really play.”

Despite the bickering over who will teach Luke pool, Luke manages to tune out the incessant blabbering. He knows the way to the beach, roughly. It’s a relatively short drive, but the presence of Ashton and Michael in the back seat slows time down tenfold. It’s not that he doesn’t like them, not at all, but his stomach gets all knotted up when he tries to talk. They’re too good for him and he knows it, all tough with their leather jackets and dark clothes and shirts logoed with punk bands he’s too lame to identify. He wants to learn, of course, but what’s a boy to do?

Calum finally parks the car up on the ledges above the beach. Luke peers over the hood, eyes trailing down the height of the bluff down to where the sand really begins. How will he get down there? What a nightmare. This isn’t going at all like he expected.

The other three get out of the car and grab their things, and assortment of food, blankets, and towels. Luke sits perfectly still in the passenger seat, waiting to be remembered. He thinks with a stab of panic that they’ll just leave him in the car and go off on their own. He need not have worried, because Calum opens the passenger door and leans in with a smile. “What are you waiting for, bud? I’ll carry you down the hill.”

Calum grabs Luke’s crutches and hands them off to Michael before backing up against the door frame. Luke hooks his arms around Calum’s neck and lets himself be hoisted up. The four of them head to the top of the steps that lead down to the beach.

When they reach the sand, Ashton lays out the blankets and Calum sets Luke neatly on top. Luke can almost taste the salt in the breeze. The air smells like the ocean, something he didn’t know he was missing. He spent most of the summer in the hospital or at home. Now, facing the shining waves with the wind in his hair, he feels his whole body ease. He smiles.

Calum lets out a long, contented sigh. He stretches his legs out and lies back, arms behind his head. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he shuts his eyes to the sun. “It is _such_ a nice day. I could take a nap right here.”

“Do it,” Michael snorts. “We have all day.”

Calum yawns, grinning up at the clouds. “Like I’ll fall for that. If I fall asleep, someone is going to bury me in sand.”

“We would _not_ do that,” Ashton protests.

“Or throw a bucket of cold water over me.”

“I might do that,” Michael confesses wistfully.

Luke hides a smile, listening in on their casual banter. He doesn’t mind so much that he’s an outsider looking in. He likes being around their happiness. It’s an improvement on the gloom of home. He stretches his hand out to the side, over the edge of the blanket, and burrows his fingers in the sand. It’s warm and soft to the touch. He closes his fist around a handful of it and then lets it fall through his fingers. The warmth makes him sleepy, pleasantly so, but unlike Calum, he doesn’t plan to succumb to the pull. He wants to savor every moment.

“I’m gonna go dip my feet,” Ashton informs them, grinning. “Anyone wanna come?”

Ashton receives complete and utter disinterest from the rest of the party. He strips off his shirt and shoes and runs, rolling his pants up as he goes. Luke watches his retreating back, the muscles and breadth of it. His hand tightens over another fist full of sand.

While Ashton’s gone, they start on the food. Luke chooses a sandwich and chews through it slowly, turned away slightly so the other two can’t see. The wind sweeps his wavy hair over his eyes, and he reaches up with one hand to brush it back again. He should get a haircut. Maybe he’ll ask his mother.

“So, Luke,” Michael says, breaking Luke out of his thoughts. “I think this is the first time we’ve actually talked.”

Calum, whose eyes are shut, smiles to himself. Luke squints at Michael.

“Yeah,” Luke says slowly. He doesn’t know where Michael is going with this, but he lets Michael look at him from where he lies on his stomach, head propped on his hands. “It is.”

“So, you in uni, or what?” Michael asks.

“He’s too busy hanging out with me at physio every day,” Calum interjects. Luke nods in absent agreement, unwilling to explain why he isn’t at uni. “He’s just a kid. Remember when we were that young?”

“How young?”

“Ah, 18? 19?”

“18,” Luke confirms, but his brow furrows. He forgot that Calum and his friends are older than him. It makes him feel like even more like a child in their presence. Hasn’t even been to uni, when they’re already on their way to graduating or doing something with their lives. Come to think of it, he’s not even sure how old they all are. Calum’s got to be 21 at least, maybe older. His friends are probably close to the same.

“He’s practically a baby,” Michael coos, face easing into fond condescension. “Does this make us cradle robbers?”

“Shut up,” Calum says, reaching out with his eyes still shut and slapping at Michael’s leg. “Let him be.”

Michael shoots Luke a smile anyway, a warm smile that makes his eyes crinkle up and shows Luke he’s only joking. Luke just burrows his fingers in the sand and watches the horizon meet the water. The sun glitters gold over the waves, and before he knows it, he’s lulled into a trance by the gentle noise of the waves hitting the shore and the warmth relentlessly bearing down on him. Moments like these, he can almost convince himself that smothering black night and the feeling of his heart about to rupture from pumping too hard was all a dream. Nothing that horrible could exist in a world so beautiful.

An hour passes. Ashton returns sometime within the hour, his pants soaked up to the calves. He flops down next to Michael and they talk too quietly for Luke to hear, giggling together. Luke’s sure Calum has fallen asleep. The peace makes him think that it could last forever, this carefree, serene feeling. He forgot how much he loved the beach in all the torment of this past month. Someday, when he dies, he wants his ashes scattered to the ocean breeze.

“Hey, we should go to the lighthouse now,” Ashton tells Michael, kicking him gently. “The tide is low. It’ll be easy to cross the rocks.”

Michael nods in agreement and reaches for his shoes, brushing the sand off his feet and slipping into his boots. Ashton does the same. Luke takes a look over at Calum, who sleeps soundly on. He’s considering waking Calum up just so he won’t be completely alone, but before he makes up his mind, Ashton asks, “Do you want to come?”

Luke doesn’t care about the lighthouse, but he does want to stay with them. He wants to be accepted into their circle. It doesn’t matter what he wants, though. “I can’t.” He gestures vaguely at his legs. They’re almost useless to him on flat, solid ground, and completely insufficient for walking across rocks. Ashton nods like he already knew, but had to ask anyway. Luke keeps his eyes on the ocean so he doesn’t have to smile awkwardly and brush off their apologetic expressions.

“Yeah, you can,” Michael chimes in. “I’ll carry you if you want to go.”

Luke, not expecting Michael’s offer, looks at him with his lips slightly parted. Michael’s face bears no trace of begrudgement or reluctance, but honest generosity that sort of pleases Luke. “I’m not too light,” Luke says automatically, internally cringing at the thought of Michael grunting under his weight and thinking Luke a burden.

“I think I can handle it,” Michael scoffs. Ashton nods beside him. “It’s not a trouble, Luke. I don’t mind. Come with us.”

“I’ll carry you if Michael gets tired,” Ashton adds. Luke’s heart skips a beat at that. Oh, no, that won’t do. He sincerely hopes Michael doesn’t get tired, at least not enough to have to hand him off. He weighs his options. He’s certainly a bit underweight compared to when he was hale and healthy a few months ago, thanks to his erratic eating and the muscle mass he lost when he was lying in that hospital bed and atrophying away.

“Okay, get on my back,” Michael says without waiting for Luke to affirm his choice. “Make sure Calum is awake to watch our stuff.”

“‘M awake,” Calum mumbles sleepily, waving a hand in the air to confirm that he’s in control of his senses. “You guys go. Don’t drop Luke.”

“As if.” Michael sounds both offended and horrified at the thought. Luke hopes it’s an indication of his competence. He kneels in front of Luke and stretches his arms behind him, ready to hoist him up. Luke hesitantly wraps his arms around Michael’s neck, and Michael quickly hooks his hands under Luke’s thighs and stands, a bit shakily at first. He stabilizes quickly. “Let’s go.”

They head toward the lighthouse across the stretch of sand. Luke is jostled by the motion of Michael walking, his boots sinking on the soft surface. He doesn’t complain, obviously. The lighthouse begins to come into focus, a looming tower of white that looks like it came out of an old wives’ tale. There’s something unreal about it, like Luke is in the wrong century. It hasn’t operated in a long time.

“Damn, it’s a nice day,” Ashton sighs, strolling casually. “I could go for a surf.”

“You surf?” Luke asks quietly, half hoping Ashton doesn’t hear. He does, though, and smiles at Luke.

“Yeah, occasionally. Don’t you? You look like you can surf.”

“Nope.”

“Stop asking Luke offensive questions,” Michael exclaims. “Luke, you should enter a wheelchair race.”

Luke snorts and starts laughing despite himself. “I don’t...think they exist.”

“What’s physio like with Calum anyway?” Michael wonders aloud, huffing a heavy breath as he hoists Luke higher. Luke surreptitiously tightens his legs around Michael’s waist, trying to make sure he doesn’t slip down or fall off.

“Um, okay,” Luke says, unsure how much to tell them. “He’s—sort of an asshole.”

Ashton snickers and covers his mouth with his hand. “What do you mean?”

“He’s just—infuriating. I thought physical...therapists were nice. He pushes me. Never lets me give up. He’s an asshole in a good way.”

“He must like you a lot to spend time with you outside of work, though,” Ashton points out reasonably. Luke thinks, _and I like him enough to come._

“Guess so,” Luke says instead. “It’s different in and out. He’s nice out.”

“Hey, look,” Ashton says, pointing eagerly out at the waves. Luke squints, unable to lift an arm to shield his eyes from the sun. “There’s a little sailboat.”

Luke spots the white sail highlighted against the pale blue sky. He smiles happily at the sight, watching the sun burn off the morning fog and illuminate the boats. When he looks back at the lighthouse, he sees that it’s much clearer than when they set out. They hit the rocks almost immediately and start picking their way toward the lighthouse. The going is slow but steady, and gradually the lighthouse grows in their sight.

They finally reach the lighthouse, or come close, anyway. Ashton cheers and looks up at the building, leaning close to read the lettering on the side of the tower. “Check it out. This is old as fuck.”

Luke smiles to himself. Michael chimes in with Ashton’s observations. They’re far more interested than Luke is, but that’s okay.

The strange thing is that, as uneasy as he feels around Michael and Ashton, he doesn’t feel like a stranger. He wishes he’d met them before the attack, and then maybe he’d have had someone to watch his back. Instead, he’d wasted his time on people like Roy who never gave a damn, anyway. Or at least, he doesn’t think Roy does. They went their separate ways when the year was up, and that was it. It was an amicable split, but it hadn’t really meant anything. It was just an outlet.

They head back after a few minutes. Michael and Ashton talk easily, with and without Luke, but often fall into lapses of silence and won’t look at each other. They return to the blankets where Calum is still reclining, blinking drowsily at the water. The sun beats down on Luke’s exposed neck and arms, and he knows when he comes home he’ll be burned red. It won’t be pretty, but nothing is, so what does a little sunburn hurt?

Michael and Ashton go off to the water after they eat some more, and then Calum sits up and digs out a notebook and a pen from his bag. Luke watches him curiously, perplexed. Calum eyes Luke with a sneaky smile, notebook propped against his knees. “You ready to get to work?”

“Work?” Luke echoes weakly, stomach flopping halfheartedly at the thought. The sun makes him lazy and disinclined to do anything but maybe sleep and lounge around.

“Nothing too frightening,” Calum assures him. “Besides, I promised to buy you an ice cream if you’ll just play along.”

“Fine, fine.” Luke shifts himself around so he can face Calum better. “What...exactly...are we doing?”

“I want you to make a plan for your future,” Calum says, and Luke fights the urge to groan and bury his head in the sand (which he means literally, or he thinks he does). He also has to stop himself from sulking and telling Calum that sometimes he doesn’t really see much of a future. Trying to pin it down is certainly the last thing he wants to do right now. “Come on. Humor me. I want you to have something to strive for. Right now you’re just running around like a chicken with your head cut off. Believe me, it’ll help for you to be able to conceptualize a future.”

Luke considers making fun of him for saying the word “conceptualize,” but decides against it. “I don’t want to,” he whines. “I...don’t know what...I’m going to do.”

“That’s exactly why we’re doing this.”

Luke sighs, but he acquiesces. “Where do we start?”

“Well, what do you ultimately want to do with your life?”

Luke really doesn’t even want to think about it. He has poor life skills, poor coping abilities, a poor outlook on life. He was a good student, thanks in large part to his mother’s influence, but he doesn’t know what he’ll pursue. Math, maybe. He was always okay at math. Or maybe a social science. Career-wise, though, he’s clueless. Before the attack, he’d considered architecture. He can’t hold a pencil steady as of now, and he has no idea what knowledge he’s retained or is able to retain.

Calum waits patiently for an answer, even a vague one, but when none come forth, he presses, “How about we just look at a general plan, then? Forget about the specifics.”

Luke nods gratefully, the overwhelming questions fading back. “I want to go to uni,” he says softly, as if saying it too loudly might jinx the whole operation. If fate is toying with him, he’d best keep his plans a secret.

Calum perks up at the mention. “Right! You asked Rian about that. I’ll put that down for 1994. That’s your first step, is going to uni. What do you want to achieve by then?”

“Um.” Luke ideally wants to walk on his own without crutches, but maybe that’s a tall order. “I guess I want to be able to...go places on my own. Without needing someone with me.”

“That sounds completely reasonable,” Calum agrees with a nod. “Although, at uni, they usually have disability services. You’ll be in good hands. So you go to uni on your own—” Calum scribbles quickly. “—And you spend, probably, four years there. What do you want to achieve while you’re there?”

“I want to...destroy my crutches.”

Calum laughs and writes it down. “So, in five years from now, you’ll be ready to walk independently again?”

“I think?”

“What about a part time job? Maybe an internship?”

“Job, maybe.”

“Okay. You probably get an apartment maybe your junior year. Okay, so then you graduate. Do you want to go for graduate school? A P.h.D.?”

“Just graduate school.”

“All right. Graduate school it is. Let’s say you start looking for a permanent job the second you get out of school, which is probably in, say, 2000. You land it sometime in 2001?”

Luke nods along, letting Calum plot out his life for him. Or the next seven years, anyway. The 2000s are a long time away, and if nobody comes back around to finish him off, he’ll have plenty of time to actually plan for the future. Calum rips out the page from his notebook and hands it to Luke. It’s headed _Luke’s Shiny New Future_ , which Luke snorts at. As if. Under the vague plans they discussed is _Goals:_ and nothing listed.

“Add to it whenever you think of something,” Calum instructs him. “Anyway, now you can have fun. That’s all I wanted to do.”

Luke scans the paper a few times for good measure, folding it loosely and tucking it into his pocket when he’s done. He bites back the words _there is no future for me_ and plays along, just for convenience’s sake. Minutes later, Michael and Ashton come rushing back, and before either of them can protest, Ashton hauls Calum to his feet and Michael scoops Luke right off the ground. With a yell, Luke kicks his feet and watches as the water approaches. Ashton is none too gentle and pushes Calum right into the waves, headfirst. Calum comes up with his hair in soaked ringlets and yanks Ashton under right next to him.

Michael drops Luke in the shallow part of the waves so that the water just washes over his legs, and wades in next to him, laughing and splashing Ashton square in the face. Luke can’t help himself. He laughs and laughs and tries to splash the other three from a distance. The salty water ebbs over his jeans and soaks them through, and the soft, wet sand makes way for his heels and hands, sucking him in. Things will be okay, he supposes.

 

* * *

 

Luke hardly realizes how long it’s been since he’s seen Ben until Ben calls one day, and since nobody is home, he reaches over to his desk and picks up the phone himself. He has the plan Calum drew up on his lap and a few tentative goals written down, things he can’t share with anyone. Things like, _get a boyfriend, move away, get married, play basketball again_.

“Hello?” he says quietly, drawing a tiny basketball next to his last bullet point.

“Hey—Luke? Is that you?”

Luke sits upright, frowning. It’s Ben’s voice, he knows that without asking. It’s been a while since he’s heard from Ben. “Yeah. Luke.”

“Hey, buddy,” Ben says warmly. Luke can’t detect any coolness or anger. “I’ve been wondering about you. How’s everything?”

How’s everything? Good, sort of. There’s the note he found on his window, but he’s already decided to not tell Ben about that. Ben would freak out. On a daily basis, life is as dull and discouraging as before, except for Friday nights and the Saturday he went to the beach. Life is, he supposes, just a little less lonely now that Calum calls him up and takes him around town sometimes. Plus his mother hasn’t bugged him in a while.

“Okay,” he says finally. “You?”

“Yeah, good.” Ben pauses for a moment. Luke opens his mouth to ask when he’s coming home, but Ben beats him to the punch. “Hey, are you still mad at me?”

Luke shakes his head and then remembers Ben can’t see him. “No. Um, I’m sorry. It was unfair...to lash out.”

“I know it’s tough, bud. You’re dealing pretty well, all things considered. Consider it all forgiven.”

Luke smiles, sighing in relief. It never feels right to fight with Ben, hasn’t ever since he came out and shit hit the fan. Ben’s his best friend, and sometimes it feels like he’s the only one Luke can count on. “Thanks.”

“I don’t mean to abandon you, you know,” Ben says softly. “I don’t know if you could hear me when you were in a coma. I took three weeks off work so I could be there. I kept talking to you because I’ve heard some people are sort of conscious even if they don’t respond, and I didn’t want you to be alone. And ever since I’ve taken every break I could, because I know it’s hard being at home. But I do have to work. Construction doesn’t pay too well, but it’s all I’m good at.”

Luke immediately feels a wave of guilt submerse him. He remembers, when he was first starting to wake up, the sound of Ben’s voice floating to him. He heard his mum, too, and occasionally Jack. He can’t remember ever hearing his father. He remembers his hand being squeezed and his hair stroked, the injections and the feeding tube in his throat. When he woke up, his mother was by his side, holding his hand and screaming for the nurse to come. Ben had gotten there before the nurse had, and as his eyes had fluttered open just a crack, Ben had knelt by his bedside and touched his face. Luke had never seen his tough older brother cry over him before.

“I’m sorry,” Luke repeats, voice wisping away. “I know. I was just...frustrated.”

“Luke, kid, I know. You have every right to be.”

“I just miss you.” A lump in his throat starts to form, and he swallows hard, unwilling to cry over the phone over a dumb fight. “I need you.”

“I’m still here. You can always call me, champ, you know that, right?”

“I know.”

“How about I take you to lunch again sometime? Would you like that?”

Luke can’t help but beam, fists curling in his lap. He stretches his feet out happily. “Yeah.”

“Okay, I’ll come for you this Saturday. How’s that?”

Luke confirms, and when he hangs up, excitement floods through him. Seeing Ben is always the best part of his day. Ben can always put a smile on his face and distract him from the problems that are always waiting when he comes back down. He never knew he’d rely on his brother so heavily. Times change.

 

* * *

 

Ben picks him up on Saturday and takes him out to lunch, this time to a cafe. He’s cautious, watching over his shoulder and sticking close to Ben. Ben keeps a burly hand on Luke’s upper back, helping him over cracks and curbs. Luke is protected in Ben’s shadow, almost his height but nowhere near his breadth. He was always the runt, still is. Ben stuffed him in a suitcase once when he was five and Ben was nine. One time when he was eight, Jack sat on him until he went blue in the face and flailed around with stick arms. Growing up with two older, much bigger brothers was a constant nightmare. It serves him well now, though. He hasn’t grown out of his teenage lankiness and disabled as he is, he’s indescribably glad that he’s got some muscle to defend him.

Luke beelines for the table in the corner and slides into the seat against the wall. From here, he can see everything. He scans the tables, searching for a wandering eye. Nobody is looking at him. There’s no sign of danger.

“Something wrong?” Ben asks. He watches concernedly as Luke takes stock of the room. “You look nervous.”

Luke decides a partial truth is more likely to get Ben off his case than a complete lie. Settling finally and taking up his menu, he admits, “Since the attack I’ve been...jumpy.”

Ben nods sympathetically and reaches across the table, hand blanketing Luke’s. “It’s okay. Nothing will happen while I’m with you.”

Luke feels like it should comfort him, and it does, but not as much as he wants it to. He can’t possibly tell Ben about the notes and the threat he goes home to every day. Ben wouldn’t understand what it’s like to feel like the whole world is against him. Luke perhaps doesn’t think about death enough, given the odds stacked against him, but it’s more than he feels anyone should—more than Ben does, without a doubt.

“They’re still out there somewhere, you know,” Luke says conversationally. “Who knows when...they’ll decide to finish the job?”

Ben hisses in a breath through his teeth, tensing immediately at Luke’s callously cavalier tone and words. “Luke. You should take this seriously.”

“I _do_ ,” Luke says, gritting his teeth and staring down at his menu. “How could I not? It’s my life at stake.” Explaining would be easier if he could let on about the notes. It would do no good, though. Ben would only blow it out of proportion. He’s like that, fiercely protective and damn well serious when it comes to Luke’s safety. “I’m scared, okay? I don’t...take it lightly.”

Ben bites his lip, watching Luke trace his finger down the menu. He doesn’t speak right away. When he does, Luke doesn’t like it. “You need to pin them down before they get to you. Go to the police. It’s not too late.”

“Ben, I—” Luke shuts his eyes, the bat coming toward his face again and again like a sports replay. He strains to remember the faces, even the voices, but outside of his dreams, he can’t remember. It’s all too hazy. He remembers the car, a couple of the digits on the license plate. He can remember—their shoes, where they took him right outside the bar. Security footage from that night would show their silhouettes, maybe enough to identify. But unless he presses charges, nobody will dredge it up. And he can’t press charges. They’d find him and murder him in cold blood before the police ever detained them.

“I can’t,” Luke says finally. “And you know why.”

“What do you remember?” Ben asks, leaning forward. Luke toys with the question. He hasn’t talked about it, ever. Not even to Calum. It rots somewhere deep in his stomach and he’s desperate to tell someone and desperate to keep his mouth shut. Nobody knows. Nobody knows.

“I remember when they took me,” Luke says, surprising himself. He shouldn’t tell, shouldn’t—he has to. It’s only Ben, and Ben should know. Luke trusts him more than he trusts anyone. “I was—at a bar. A—gay bar.” Shame curls in his stomach. It’s not the thing itself, just the connotations. Luke has heard endless jokes about gay bars and it still makes him feel perverted and wrong. Ben doesn’t say a word. “And I barely got two steps out of the door before someone...put a bag over my head and...tossed me into a car. It was fast.”

“Luke,” Ben murmurs. He shakes his head, looking sorry. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No. No, it’s fine.” Luke shakes his head too, firmly. “I...don’t remember much else. Just flashes. And waking up on the road, I—” Luke cuts himself off, the lies building. “So. As you can tell. Nothing to tell the police.”

“Shit, Luke,” Ben sighs. He looks unpleasantly vulnerable, like Luke has hurt him somehow. “I don’t think I can convince you. Just—consider it, okay?”

“No,” Luke says flatly. “Made up my mind.”

“Let’s not fight again. Tell me what’s happening at home.”

“Have you called Mum?” Luke asks, curious about what information his mum is feeding Ben. Now that Ben lives on his own, he isn’t necessarily privy to what happens within the four walls of the house. Not that anything has really happened of late, but the mood is always shifting. “Or...Jack?”

“No, I’ve been too busy.” Ben tilts his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Why?”

“Jack asked me how...gay guys have sex,” Luke says, trying not to laugh at the memory. Ben snorts, a fit of laughter seizing him. If there’s one thing they have in common, it’s laughing at Jack. “He also thought...I was a virgin.”

“He’s got no imagination,” Ben chuckles. “Did you tell him?”

“No! Of course not.”

“You should have. Imagine his face.”

Luke can, unfortunately, imagine perfectly Jack’s look of horror and disgust if he bothered to describe anal sex or any of the other options. Not just because of the act itself, but because of who is doing it. The embarrassment would be far too much to handle. He would never have discussed sex with Jack even if he’d been fucking around with girls, but with guys—not in a million years. He can feel Jack’s shame even though Jack knows little to none about what he’s done. Jack would think him defiled, depraved. Luke is surprised that Ben adjusted to everything so well, despite some initial discomfort, but he knows Jack is different. If Ben is uncomfortable, he hides it well for Luke’s sake. Jack would never bother.

Between the two, Ben is the diplomat, and Jack is always candid to a fault. Luke just keeps his mouth shut. Especially now; it’s not the time to air his opinions. But it all leaves so little room for moving forward. He doesn’t know if he can ever change Jack’s mind about him now.

“You think Mum will ever stop hating my guts?” Luke cracks a smile, trying to lighten the mood. Ben smiles sympathetically.

“She doesn’t hate you, Luke. She’s overwhelmed and confused. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t care about you. None of the family hates you. You didn’t kill anyone, just—kind of blew everyone out of the water. We grew up thinking of you a certain way. Mum thought she raised someone else. It’s not like you’re different, but she’s having to change her entire perspective. I mean, she never had to think about it before.”

Luke always felt like there was something missing, something he was hiding that even he didn’t know about. How could everyone else have been so blind?

“She didn’t know me before,” he says. “I wasn’t me.”

“Are you you now?”

Luke bites his lip, looking down at his hands. “I think I’m getting there."

 

* * *

 

Luke is wrenched from sleep by a deafening crash and screams, jackknifing upright. His cheek is warm and wet under the night breeze, and his hands shake violently as he reaches up to touch it. His hand comes away stained red. The floor is littered with broken glass. The window is missing a substantial chunk of glass, and the glass that remains in the pane is shattered past transparency, waiting to fall. There’s a brick on the floor. He fails to form a single thought, clawing at his cheek as if he might clean away the blood.

He doesn’t have any sense of the time that passes, his understanding of reality warped by fear, but he knows it isn’t long between waking up and Jack rushing into his room. Jack freezes in the doorway, blue eyes highlighted by the streetlight flooding in. Luke sobs, paralyzed in bed. His hand cups his cheek and he can’t seem to move it away. Jack ducks out of the room only for a moment and reappears still pulling his slippers on, and then he rushes across the room and picks Luke up like he’s a baby, running him into the hallway and setting him down against the wall, the room behind him. Their parents’ door is opening, and his mother emerges in her robe, frazzled and bewildered.

“They broke the window,” Jack almost shouts, taking the stairs two at a time. Luke trembles silently against the wall as his mother moves forward, dropping to her knees in front of Luke with a gasp. His father comes out behind her, glancing around in confusion. Downstairs, Luke distantly hears the hall closet door open and close and then the front door open. Jack yells, “I’m gonna fucking kill you! Stay the fuck away from him!”

Luke’s mother whispers, “Oh God.” She touches his face and brushes his hair back, leaning in close to inspect the wound. Luke is rigid in her grasp, tears pouring down his cheeks and his eyes unblinkingly wide. She pulls his hand away from his face. “Luke, hon. Let me see.”

Luke doesn’t move a muscle to stop her from looking at the gash. It stings, but he doesn’t think about that so much as he remembers the brick in the room on the other side of the wall. Footsteps pound up the stairs, and when Luke looks, he sees a man’s figure holding a baseball bat.

His brain shuts off completely and he curls over his knees with a scream, shielding his head and bracing for a blow that never comes. The world seems to go black for a second, heart beating so fast he wants to throw up. His mother’s voice comes through to him and incandescent lights flood the narrow hallway.

“It’s just Jack,” she says soothingly, pulling his head to her chest and stroking his hair. “Nobody is going to hurt you.”

It doesn’t feel like safety, even wrapped up tightly in his mother’s embrace. It feels a lot like everyone is trying to hurt him. Jack stands in the doorway, the bat dropped from his hand. He looks stricken, hair wild and curls sticking every which way. He’s breathing hard. “They’re gone,” he says, kicking the stair railing in frustration.

“Luke, hon, let’s go clean up your face,” his mother urges, gently tugging at his arm. “I’ll get you a cold washcloth and you can sleep with Jack tonight.”

Luke hadn’t even really realized that he’s sweating, hot and cold, his skin prickling incessantly all over. _I’m on fire_. The feeling is back. His mother tells Jack to carry him into the bathroom. Somehow she manages to sit him down on the toilet lid and wet a paper towel. The air in the bathroom is cold, breezing over the sweat lining his brow. His mother dabs tenderly at his cheek with the damp paper towel, cleaning the area around the cut and wiping the blood off his cheek. There’s a foul river overflowing its banks inside of him.

Luke can’t remember the last time his mother spoke to him in such comforting tones. Perhaps it was when he woke up in the hospital, disoriented and panicked. He forgets in full her offenses and loses himself to the instinctive comfort her familiar voice brings. She soothes him off the edge, cleaning him up until his breath is just a shuddery in and out and his skin stops burning. Jack comes to stare in the doorway, watching silently, stone-faced. Luke’s tears sting his cut.

“They’re coming back for me,” Luke chokes, weeping into his mother’s shoulder. She rubs his back and shushes him. He feels clumsily big, too old to be held properly, but for a moment he lets himself be small. After all, he isn’t big enough to protect himself.

When he’s stopped bleeding and has run out of tears, his mother turns around and tells Jack, “Sleep with him downstairs tonight in the sitting room.”

Luke know why she chose the living room.  It faces the backyard and poses a lower risk than the broken second story window. Jack nods and disappears into the hallway as she tapes some gauze over the cut for good measure. She kisses his unharmed cheek and pats him on the back. “You need to get some sleep, hon.”

Jack comes down the hall with a mountain of blankets in his arms, headed for the stairs. Luke’s eyes burn as if they were sandpapered, and his body sags with fatigue. The only thing he can do is sleep. But how can he now? How can he ever sleep again? Nothing is safe, neither sleep nor waking, neither home nor away. He’s got a target painted on his back and his eyes only point forward.

Surviving past eighteen seems more impossible than it ever has to him.

“Luke,” Jack says, tapping on the doorframe. It snaps his frame of reality back into place. He looks up at Jack, disoriented and exhausted. Jack’s expression softens almost paternally. Luke shivers in his shadow. He’s imposing, broad and tall. Luke feels his own disadvantage. “You ready to go downstairs?”

Luke nods. Jack comes into the bathroom, scoops Luke up in his arms, and begins the trek downstairs. Despite his droopy eyes, Jack never once fumbles, his hold on Luke secure and reassuringly solid. Luke lets his head rest against Jack’s shoulder, eyes closing against his better judgment. He’s so, so tired. Jack’s already got a spare duvet on the couch and a blanket. Luke’s head hits the pillow and the soft couch seems to suck him in. Luke distantly registers Jack settling down on the floor right alongside him.

“Wait,” Luke whispers drowsily, hand dangling over the edge of the sofa. “What if someone comes back?”

“They won’t,” Jack says, drawing the blanket up over Luke’s shoulders. “Go to sleep.”

“But...”

“I’ll stay awake for a bit just in case,” Jack promises, and smooths Luke’s hair back. “Shush, now. Just sleep.”

Luke means to stay awake and grapple with his fear, but in the end sleep wins out. He doesn’t know if Jack keeps his promise or not, but he supposes if the world keeps letting him down like this, it won’t matter if he takes Jack’s word for it or not.

 

* * *

 

Luke wakes up to the sound of his mother doing dishes in the kitchen. Groggily, he tries to regain his bearings. He isn’t in his bedroom. He’s—he’s in the living room. Why?

The window.

Last night’s events slowly flood back into his memory. The glass on the floor, the glass in his cheek. The brick lying amongst the glass. Everything in shambles—not that everything was right before.

It feels like a dream when he remembers. A lurid nightmare that was just colorful enough to trick him into thinking it was real all along. He puts a hand up to his cheek and his fingers come into contact with rough gauze, the pressure sparking an ache at the source of the cut. He shivers and looks to the side at the floor. It’s void of both blankets and Jack. It must be late, the sun is high—what time is it? He lifts his head with great difficulty and strains to read the clock. It’s almost midday. He’s missed physical therapy. He knows he has to go, rain or shine, but his body hurts for no reason except that he’s clearly on the losing side of this war, and for one day all he wants to do is lie on the couch and watch bad television.

“Mum?” he calls out. There’s dried drool on the side of his mouth, which he wipes away with a finger. _Gross_. He feels like he was hit over the head with an anvil. The world is so heavy sometimes, he thinks.

His mother rounds the corner of the living room and smiles sympathetically at him. She sits beside him on the couch, touching her palm to his forehead and brushing back the hair flopped over his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

Luke frowns and shrugs. “Okay.”

“You need a haircut,” she muses. “I’ll take you on Friday before you go out with your friends.”

“Physical therapy,” he says, thinking tiredly that there’s nothing he can do about it now, nothing he wants to do about it, either. She didn’t wake him up for it, so maybe it was canceled.

She shakes her head and tuts at him, squeezing his shoulder and looking down at him with an expression he really can’t place. It’s somewhere between fondness and worry. “I thought you could use an off day.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you want anything to eat? Some toast, tea?”

Luke doesn’t think he can eat anything without throwing it up, so he shakes his head. She pats his shoulder and goes back to the kitchen to continue doing housework. For a while, Luke stares at the ceiling and tries to think of how to entertain himself all day. He can’t be in his room; there’s probably still glass everywhere, and even if it’s been cleaned, he doubts the window has been fixed while he was asleep. It’s strange to think that there’s just a gaping hole in the front of the house, a breach in the wall of security he’s always counted on. He took so many things for granted when he was younger.

Luke eventually wrestles the TV remote off the coffee table and turns on the TV. He flips through the channels until he finds some old cartoon reruns and dazes off, eyes glazed over. He watches cartoons for innumerable hours, through the afternoon and well into the evening. It distracts him interminably from the problem at hand. When the night falls, he knows he’ll be awake, eyes open wide and brain going into overdrive. Jack wanders in and out of the room from time to time, asking if Luke needs anything and being more of a pain than a help. He allows Jack to get him some chips to snack on, but otherwise pleads with Jack to just let him be.

Darkness comes, and even with the curtains shut, Luke can’t help but feel like there are eyes on him. He shifts uncomfortably on the sofa, trying to distract himself. He nearly jumps right out of his skin when the doorbell rings.

He listens as his mother goes to answer the door, trying to separate her voice from the visitor’s, straining to identify the person. He can’t hear well enough to make a positive identification; he can tell they’re talking in hushed voices, which means his mother doesn’t want him to hear. If he were able-bodied, he wouldn’t hesitate to get up and see for himself. Instead, he remains on the couch and waits, exasperated by the slowly building suspense.

“Luke?” his mother finally calls, entering the living room once more. “Calum is here to see you, sweetheart. Do you want me to invite him in?”

Luke’s stomach goes cold. Why is Calum here? It’s not a Friday. “Why?”

“He wants to talk to you. I’m sure he’ll understand if you say you’re not up to it.”

Luke shakes his head against his better judgment. “No, it’s okay.”

She nods and goes back to the foyer, and in a few seconds Calum comes into view, still in his work clothes and smiling hopefully. Luke pulls his blanket around himself, trying to shroud himself from view. He smiles weakly at Calum, hoping it’s convincing enough.

“Hey, Luke,” Calum greets him, sitting down on the couch next to him. “You didn’t come to physical therapy today.”

Luke considers a multitude of lies that would explain his absence. It also occurs to him simultaneously that his mother might have told Calum what happened at the door, or maybe she called in to tell Rian. Or maybe Calum just stood on the sidewalk outside and looked straight up at the window and saw the glass. Just like someone did last night. They must have driven up to the curb, feet from the house. There’s not much of a lawn between the street and the house. They must have stood on the car roof to be able to lob the brick through his window, or else they just had really good arm strength.

Why bother imagining it? It’s over.

“Someone threw a brick into my room,” Luke says, deciding on the truth. His eyes trail to the stairs, as if he could see up them and into his room. “Last night. While I slept.”

Calum doesn’t do anything dramatic—doesn’t gasp, doesn’t recoil in shock. He just nods and says, “I know. Your mum called and told Rian this morning. You obviously had a rough night. How are you holding up?”

Luke doesn’t know how he’s supposed to be doing, if this is something people get over quickly or if he’s allowed to mourn peace and security for a while longer. “Fine, I guess.”

“It must have scared you,” Calum comments. “And your cheek, is it—?”

“Cut, yeah,” Luke finishes for him, reaching up to touch the gauze again. He presses a little too hard just to feel the sore ache of it. It’ll heal, it isn’t all that deep, but it hurts now while it’s still fresh. “It’s not bad.”

“You doing okay?” Calum asks again, touching Luke’s knee concernedly. Luke wants to cry all of a sudden, struck by the genuine worry behind the question. Such small shows of concern for his wellbeing shouldn’t touch him the way it does, but he didn’t expect it from Calum, honestly. It still feels to him like a professional relationship, and even though he knows Calum cares, he can’t tell in what way. He’s blind to everything outside of himself.

“I’m fine,” Luke manages, swallowing hard and smiling as reassuringly as he can. “Honestly. It just...shook me up, is all.”

“You can always call me if you want to talk about it,” Calum says, tilting his head and looking at Luke worriedly. “Do you know if it’s the same people who—”

“No,” Luke cuts him off. It’s the truth. God, he has no idea. The attack, the notes, this, could all be the works of the same people as easily as they could be separate threats. There are enough people in the world, in this city alone, who hate queers, and even if he knew who attacked him in the first place, there’s no guarantee that they’re connected to last night’s events.

“Did you see who it was?”

“ _No_ ,” Luke bites out. “I don’t know, okay?” He hisses out a sharp breath, exasperated and annoyed by everyone’s obsession with knowing who it was. What does it matter? Even if the police caught them, there’d be a million more people ready to kill. He doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, not to Calum or to anybody. He’s sick and tired of having to answer stupid questions like this.

Calum seems taken aback by Luke’s harsh tone. “I’m sorry, I’m just worried.”

“If you came here...to preach about telling...the police, you can leave.” Luke wills his tongue to be still, but he can’t stop himself. “I don’t need it. I don’t care...who did it. I’m not telling anyone. Okay?”

Calum’s jaw twitches. “I know it’s not my place to say, but don’t you think this is something you shouldn’t take on alone? You’re obviously in danger, I don’t think you—”

The water boils over. Luke yanks the blanket around himself as tightly as possible. “Get out,” he snaps, lip trembling. “I said...I don’t want to talk about it. My window...was smashed. I’m getting death threats. If I tell...the police, someone will murder me. Get out, I don’t want to talk to you.”

Calum’s jaw hangs slack. Luke is shaking from the anger, from the fear of confronting Calum, from his sleepless night. He feels like the whole world is crushing him, pressing the life right out of him. Calum says softly, “I’ll go.” He stands and walks to the door, looking back once. He opens his mouth, as if about to say something, but he seems to think better of it. Luke waits until he’s gone and then bursts into tears, hot tears rolling down his cheeks. The sound draws Jack, who’s lingering nearby.

Jack puts a hand on his shoulder. Luke shrugs him off violently, covering his eyes with his hands. “Get off,” he sobs.

“Sorry,” Jack mumbles, and sits down next to him instead. Luke didn’t want that, either. “Are you okay?”

“Go away,” Luke almost shouts. “It’s not like...you care anyway. So just, _go_.” Luke dissolves into sobs, shoulders shaking. He’s angry, most of all. Angry at Calum, his family, the whole world. He’s angry at everyone who is pressuring him to press charges without understanding his reasons to withhold his memories. He’s angry at his family for not understanding that he’s always liked boys, that he isn’t hurting anyone by loving them. He’s angry that he can’t walk or talk right. He’s angry at Ben for not being home, and at Jack for letting him down when he wanted his support most.

Jack sidearms Luke into a hug, and even though he hates Jack for emotionally abandoning him when he should have been protecting him, he gives in and buries his face in Jack’s shoulder, weeping into his t-shirt. Jack holds him awkwardly, as if unsure of what to do. He pats Luke’s shoulder, a sterile gesture at best. “Hey, bud,” he says uncomfortably, drawing his vowels out in an attempt to be soothing. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Luke says hysterically. “Don’t say it is. You don’t know. All you care about...is that I’m fucking gay.”

“That’s not true,” Jack says, cringing. “It isn’t, Luke.”

“It is. You know it is. It’s been like that...since I came out. You couldn’t look me...in the eyes. I almost died...because someone wanted to kill a queer. And you still...can’t look me in the eyes.”

“Hey. _Hey._ ” Jack pulls back and turns Luke’s head toward him. Luke stares at him through watery eyes, betrayed. “I’m looking at you now, okay? I’m not too smart, Luke, and I don’t know what to think about you being gay sometimes. I never had to think about it before. But I’m with you until the end. I know you’d rather have Ben, but I’m trying. You’re still my brother.”

“Try harder,” Luke says, sniffling and wiping his eyes. He half expects Jack to blow up and leave, to take back all the things he said and throw it in Luke’s face. But he doesn’t move.

“I can try harder,” Jack says, nodding and jutting his chin out resolutely. “For you, I would.”

“You would?” Luke almost stops crying, so surprised and touched that the tears ebb. Jack nods, shrugging like it isn’t a big deal.

“I’m your older brother,” he says, turning his head away as if embarrassed. “Even if I...don’t understand yet, I will. Someday.”

It’s not a guarantee of anything. It’s not even a promise, regardless of intent or execution. Still, were Luke not already crying, he would be moved to do so. These days, small gestures break him apart like a cloud under the sun. Why must Jack be so infuriatingly good and closeminded at the same time? How is Luke supposed to make up his mind about things this way? Everything is too complicated; he needs simple answers, simple assessments of his surroundings. He keeps leading down the wrong path. First he thinks Jack good and admirable, and is disappointed. Then, he finds Jack suffocatingly thick and unkind, and is completely spun around.

But he wants simple, so he brushes his thoughts away and thinks, plainly, Jack will not let him down the same way again.

 

* * *

 

Calum shows up on Friday despite Luke’s concerns that he might never return. Luke hasn’t been to therapy at all this week, preoccupied with the window incident and sleeping hardly at all, even with Jack staying up late to reassure him. His mother asks him every day if he’s ready to return. He tells her each day, _tomorrow I will be ready_. In the meantime, he busies himself reading the newspaper out loud in the living room to Jack, who sits patiently and listens, and fulfills the exercises Rian assigned to him to try. He doesn’t go up to his room a single time, even though the window is fixed on Thursday. Soon enough, Friday rolls around, and he bites his cheek, anxious Calum might not show up after all.

He does. Like clockwork, the doorbell rings, and when Luke’s mother opens the door, Calum’s voice floats in. Luke stiffens at the sound, remembering his harsh denunciation of Calum’s advice. How will they reconcile? Braced, he waits impatiently in the living room for Calum to make his appearance. He does shortly, a grim expression on his honeyed features. Luke clenches his teeth, nervous, and splays his hand over his leg. He waits for Calum to make the first move.

“Hey,” Calum says, jerking his head toward the door without prelude. “You ready?”

“Hey,” Luke starts, wringing his hands. Calum looks at him impassively, waiting. “Um, hey. I’m sorry. You were trying to help, and—I took my...frustrations out on you.”

“It’s okay,” Calum says, smiling broadly. “I would be mad if I were you, too. It was wrong of me to press the subject when you clearly didn’t want to talk about it. So I’m sorry too.”

“You’re not mad?” Luke asks, reaching for his crutches. He expected Calum to hold out at least a little longer before forgiving him; he’s certain his mistake would cost him more. But he can’t complain.

“I was a little upset, but I get it. It wasn’t my place. If you don’t want to talk about it, we won’t.” Calum jerks his head toward the door again. “Do you need some more sappy talk, or are you ready to go?”

Luke smiles, relieved. “I’m ready.”

Calum puts pops a compact disc into the car’s radio on the way to the rec center. He hums along happily, and Luke listens. It’s a rough sounding soundtrack, and Luke can’t say he understands the words. He can tell it’s some sort of punk band, partially because it’s the only thing Calum listens to and partially because it has that sound that he hears on the radio all the time these days. Punk rock is really taking off, and Calum is right on track with it.

“Know what this is?” he asks with a smile, noticing Luke’s puzzled expression. “It’s Green Day. It’s the album Dookie. Just came out a few weeks ago. I really like their sound.”

“I don’t know them,” Luke says.

“Of course you don’t. This is their first album.” Calum nudges Luke’s shoulder, teasing. “You don’t have to know everything. Just listen.”

Luke takes Calum’s advice and just listens, letting the words pass through his head and contemplating the meaning of each song briefly. He likes it, he thinks. It’s new and different from what he’s used to hearing. It’s defiant, and somehow just what he needs.

 

* * *

 

Luke will never get used to the dank smell of the rec center or the shiver that runs across his skin and raises his hair on end. After a few minutes, the smell is less noticeable, but the chill never leaves. Luke curls into the couch, trying to stay warm. The fabric is some sort of weird corduroy that is wearing through in some places. It’s better than the open air, so he wedges himself into the corner and watches the pool tournament unfolding before his eyes.

Derek loses to Ashton right off the bat and takes off his SnapBack, groaning and carding a hand through his hair. Grumbling under his breath, he plops down next to Luke on the sofa. Luke gives him a sympathetic smile. Derek rolls his shoulders back. “Man. I just can’t fucking beat him.”

“He’s good?” Luke ventures a guess, remembering Michael not being able to beat him these past few weeks either. It seems to be a pattern.

“He’s a fucking ace,” Derek says with a short laugh. “Don’t know who taught him to play, but he could play for money if he wanted to.”

Luke watches in amusement as Ashley takes Derek’s place and prepares to play against Ashton. Ashton’s expression is one of complete concentration and yet he shows no sign of nerves. Perhaps it’s just his poker face, or maybe the game is so easy he really doesn’t think about it. Luke has never seen Ashton look caught off guard a single time. Luke can’t believe anyone could be so completely unruffled by the world. It doesn’t seem possible.

Ashley loses, but seemingly by a far smaller margin than Derek. She sits on his lap after, laughing and teasing him about how bad he is at pool. Derek reluctantly accepts her gibes; she kisses his cheek, leaving behind a trace of her bright red lipstick. He wraps his arms around her waist and Luke turns his attention back to the game. Calum is up next.

Calum and Ashton’s game seems to consist mostly of trash talking and obnoxious victory dances. Ashton can’t stop himself from laughing a few times when Calum says something ridiculously dramatic, his calm facade momentarily broken. Luke watches the way he throws his head back and his whole body shakes. The corners of his eyes crinkle up. Calum has that effect on people. He can lighten up any room, it seems.

“Luke,” Michael says, standing next to the table. “We’re going to teach you to play tonight.”

Luke splutters, caught unawares. He isn’t even sure how long he can stand, with or without crutches. The last thing he wants is to draw attention to himself or be the laughingstock of the room. He’ll look a fool. “I can’t.”

“You don’t get a choice,” Calum says, grinning. “We’ll go easy on you, I promise.”

Luke squirms, his skin prickling. He’s always been out of his element here, but he feels more so than ever. Derek pats his shoulder sympathetically. “You’ll be fine.”

When Calum is inevitably beaten and Michael stands up to take his place, Derek helps pull Luke up and leads him to the pool table. To Luke’s surprise, instead of going to Michael’s side, Derek leaves him by Ashton’s side of the table. Panicked, Luke looks up at Ashton in fright. Ashton smiles gently down at him and pulls Luke to stand in front of him. Luke sucks in a sharp breath and wills himself not to act like an idiot.

“Can you stand?” Ashton asks in his ear, his body blanketing Luke’s. “I can get you a chair.”

“I just,” Luke says, licking his lips, “need a little...support.”

“Okay, I got you,” Ashton murmurs, pressing Luke up against the table and putting the cue in front of him. Luke stiffens, aware of Ashton’s torso pressing into his back. The contact makes it so hard to breathe, he might as well be in a coal mine with a canary dying in his hand. “Grab the cue.”

It’s hard for Luke to get a good grip on it, but he does his best. Within seconds, Ashton’s hands close around his, sliding them down. Luke expects him to remove his hands after he repositions them, but he doesn’t. They stay firmly around Luke’s, helping him hold the cue. Luke can feel his calloused palms on the soft skin of the back of his hands. Ashton breathes softly next to his ear.

“You’re shaking,” Ashton says with the sound of a smile slipping into his voice. “Are you nervous?”

Luke can’t say if it’s the exertion or their proximity. He doesn’t respond. Michael racks the balls in front of him and places the ball just in front of the tip of his cue. “Time to break,” Ashton says. “I’ll guide your hands. Just relax.”

Luke can’t relax. He’s jittery, afraid. He might cry as easily as Ashton might jerk a smile out of him. He’s not unhappy, though. It’s just a passing frame of his life, and it’s the best one in comparison to all the ones before. Ashton helps him break, and explains in a low voice how to play after that. Luke is hardly paying attention, preoccupied with his thoughts and the butterflies in his stomach.

Ashton’s head pillows Luke’s, right up against his. His hair tickles Luke’s cheek. Luke should move away and insist on keeping his distance. It’s the right thing to do, but he doesn’t do it. It’s the right thing, for his safety and for Ashton’s. But he doesn’t do it.


	6. if there's a light at the end it's just the sun in your eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait!! I was working on other things and finishing up the semester at school. unfortunately this chapter isn't super long like the last one so it doesn't quite compensate for my inadequacy. sorry <3

Luke dreams of Roy. He can’t see anything except the cold floor and old, blackened, flattened gum that someone must have stuck to the ground a long, long time ago. But in that way you just _know_ things in your dreams, Luke knows that the hard surface pressing bruisingly back against his ribs with the equal and opposite force of his weight is the locker room bench. There’s a hand pulling on his hair, stinging the back of his scalp, and another hand squeezing his ass so hard he’s afraid it’ll mark. His pants are halfway down his thighs, just low enough to get the job done. His own breath comes hot and heavy.

“Just relax,” Roy whispers in what Luke assumes is an attempt to be soothing, fingers ghosting over his lower back now. He presses his thumb down where Luke is most tense. Luke is holding his breath, waiting to be penetrated, exposed and cold. He can’t remember why he agreed to this now, his mind blank in the silence. His body is rigid with the fear of being caught doing something forbidden, the fear someone might have forgotten something in the locker room and will come back. It’s unthinkable that someone might find out. What they do here can only be known to them. “I’ll be gentle. You won’t break.”

He gives Luke no warning, pushing into him in one slow but unrelenting thrust of his hips, and Luke scrunches his eyes shut, fighting the feeling of discomfort. Psychologically, he’s spinning between conclusions, not sure whether he’s more embarrassed or thrilled by the idea of doing something so unspeakable. He wants to give himself over to Roy and shed his shame. Roy waits until Luke’s breathing slows before he moves, gently at first and then with more intention. Luke’s hand is clenched around the edge of the bench, trying to adjust to the feeling and brace himself against the motion. To his relief, the discomfort blends into pleasure once he adjusts the cant of his hips. Sweat pricks at his forehead. He feels like the room just got five degrees hotter at a minimum, and now when he thinks about what they’re doing, the nature of it, the thought turns to pure arousal low in his stomach.

Roy’s hand comes around to grip Luke’s hip tightly. He’s bent almost in half over Luke, his chest almost touching Luke’s back. Luke’s breath is knocked out of him. He bites down on his knuckles, stomach tensing. He’s almost there, he’s just about to—

The locker door opens. Roy doesn’t stop, even though Luke opens his mouth to tell him. But his tongue is as heavy as lead and suddenly he can’t move his limbs, either, and he knows he’s about to be caught. The room fills with blinding light, and when he squints he sees a silhouette, dark with the sun behind them.

“It’s me,” Roy whispers, his voice echoing in the chamber. “It’s me.”

 _What’s you?_ Luke tries to scream, but Roy is dissolving, and then he’s standing before the doorway and squinting into the light. His clothes are gone now, and Roy is nowhere to be seen.

“It’s me,” Roy whispers. “It’s me.”

 

* * *

 

Luke wakes up with a hard-on and a mouthful of pillow. Short of breath, he rolls onto his side and curls shamefully into a ball, panting and trying to will away his arousal. He remembers the scene from Year 12, the first time he’d ever gone as far with anyone. It had left him sore for days, but the experience and temporary bliss was worth the pain. Now, he can’t quite remember what it felt like.

The ending of the dream, though, wasn’t from his memories. What had Roy said? _It’s me_? What does that mean?

He shivers and rolls over onto his other side, restless. It’s early morning, as indicated by the faint light outside. The sun is trying to rise. He palms himself listlessly, hoping not for release but for relief. He doesn’t feel like masturbating, hasn’t for a few months. The heat rises in his cheeks just at the memory—it feels like something to be ashamed of. If Jack, or his parents, knew, he knows they’d be disgusted. Sometimes, he doesn’t know why; it had felt good, for the most part, and there shouldn’t be any shame in what he did behind closed doors. But other times, he feels repulsed by himself. Even Ben would probably find his sexual encounters perverse.

And oh, if they’d seen him on his _knees_.

The dream, lurid and real as it was, keeps him awake a while longer, even after his arousal has faded. He and Roy had never been anything, really, but he misses the feeling of having a partner. He wonders if he’s ever going to find a partner, if he’ll be able to share with him all the things his brothers will undoubtedly share with their future wives, and then some. He’s sure men in the past have had relations with other men—knows it, in fact—but he can’t understand how they managed.

He sleeps again after that, and dreams of Ashton. Ashton is behind him again, body pressed to Luke’s as Luke’s chest meets the top of the pool table. Ashton isn’t teaching him to play this time, though. Luke’s bare hips bruise under his thick fingertips. Ashton lets out a single gasp in Luke’s ear, an inappropriate sigh that echoes in the room. The scene goes dark.

 

* * *

 

Jack’s car breaks down mid-March. It’s an engine problem, he says. Luke doesn’t know anything about cars, but the two of them are home alone, and Luke feels a little safer sitting in the garage with Jack than alone in the room that, a week earlier, was carpeted with glass. Jack sets Luke atop the washing machine, which groans under his weight but doesn’t give way. Luke watches as Jack pops the hood and peers under it, inspecting the inner workings. He props his elbows on his knees and rests his chin in his hands, listlessly observing Jack work. Jack hums and reaches in, looking for the source of the issue. Luke wouldn’t know what was wrong even if he had a clear view of the engine. Jack learned how to tinker with cars by the time he was in secondary school. Luke spent the same formative years of his life trying to keep his head down and get his marks.

“What’s wrong?” Luke asks, bored in the silence. He can’t tell if Jack’s hems and haws indicate understanding or contemplation. Jack scratches his head, eyes glued to the engine.

“Spark plugs are all gunked up,” Jack says. He peers inside and frowns, lower lip sullenly pushed out. “I’m going to have to replace them. I’m going to page Dad and ask him to pick some up on the way home.”

Luke used to be jealous that Jack got a pager before he did, but now he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t have any use for one. Although, if things pan out with Calum and his group, he just might want one after all.

“Is it easy to fix?”

“Yeah, not a big deal at all. Come here, let me show you.” Before Luke can protest, he walks over to the washing machine and hauls Luke off, slipping an arm under Luke’s so he can support Luke. Without a crutch, Luke sags against him, almost his full weight hanging off Jack’s frame. His legs are still weak and useless. Jack guides him over to the car where the hood is propped open, and points to the spark plugs. “See how dirty they are? It means they can’t spark and start the engine.”

“Oh,” Luke says, more interested by the fact that Jack is bothering to tell him like a real brother than by the engine itself. Jack sits him back on top of the washing machine in due time, working on removing the plugs. Luke thinks about anything other than cars, like the fact that Jack is being unusually nice to him and how Ashton’s hips felt behind his own. Not that it meant anything. Not that Luke wanted it to.

No, perish the thought.

The sound of a car door slamming outside catches Luke’s attention. He looks toward the kitchen door, waiting for someone to come through and reveal their presence. After a brief while, his father walks into the garage, peering under the hood of the car. He passes a package to Jack, presumably the new spark plugs.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Of course.” He looks at Luke, expressionless. “You boys fixing up the car?”

“Yep. Should work like new in a bit.” Jack pats the side of the car. Luke watches impassively. His father’s placid presence sets him ill at ease.

It was that night Luke felt like he couldn’t hold it together anymore. He shouldn’t have told them, but they didn’t know how it felt to be falling apart the way he was, though they should have understood at least the cost of keeping such secrets. It would have revealed itself someday; Luke never had any intention of pursuing someone for the sake of social convention. He would have loved a man eventually, lain with him and given him everything he wanted, hoping for the same in return. But whether the timing was merited, may weigh on him for some time.

His mother had cried. That’s what he remembers most clearly. Of course he remembers Jack taking his keys and leaving the house for an hour or so, like being in Luke’s presence was too much, and his father being silent. He even remembers Ben holding him in the kitchen long after his mother had gone to her room, and crying into Ben’s shoulder like his own heart had broken. But his mother wanted to know about the grandchildren she would never have, what the neighbors would say, what she did wrong in raising Luke.

Luke had no answers. He didn’t think there _were_ answers.

Now his father stares at him like he’s seeing a shadow of that night. “Good to see my boys fixing the car together,” he says, but what he means is that it’s good to see Luke participating (and hardly, at that) in a masculinized activity. In a year, they have come as close to being honest too few times.

It’s funny how long these things last, Luke thinks.

 

* * *

 

Progress comes slowly, and Luke knows that. Mentally, and physically, he is shredded from the repeated assaults against him. As if in recoil from the window-shattering night attack, he loses the ability to go down the stairs with his crutches. He finds this out the hard way, knees buckling halfway down. He is alone, which is the worst part, because he tumbles down the rest of the way, smacking his head on the wooden steps several times. When he lands at the bottom, he lies face up, flushed and out of breath with tears in his eyes. In part, his whole body aches, but he feels oddly humiliated by his failure.

He hurts enough that he doesn’t try getting up, and besides could get nowhere without his crutches, which remain a ways up the stairs. He presses a hand to his skull, wincing when he feels the sore ache wherever his head made contact with the stairs. His head pounds in a way it hasn’t since the original attack, and he knows he’ll be bruised all over tomorrow.

Somehow, time passes, and in his tearstained haze, he remains lying in the foyer. His mother opens the door that leads from the kitchen to the garage and walks in, calling out his name before she sees him lying where he is. He’s sure it must give her a fright, seeing him prone. She cries out his name and rushes over, kneeling immediately by his head. He sniffles and wipes his red-rimmed eyes. “I’m okay,” he sniffles, letting her run her hands over every inch of his body to check for damage. “I just fell.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she croons, pulling at his arms until he sits up right. She brushes his hair off his forehead. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” he lies, and wipes his eyes. “Just bumped my head a few times.” His head throbs as he says the words, and he remembers the initial pitch forward when he’d landed almost face first. He’d twisted his body in time so the impact caught his cheekbone and temple and not his nose or mouth. Now his head hurts something nasty.

His mother’s cool fingers brush over his temples and forehead, soothing the pain. “Is it bad?” she asks.

“I don’t know.”

She purses her lips, pondering the issue. “I’ll get you some ice. We’ll see if it dies down.”

She slides an arm under his arms and attempts to pull him up. Luke has to try with all his strength to get up with her minimal assistance. She sets him on the first stair, figuring probably that neither of them have the required strength to make it to the couch. She goes to the kitchen and starts to fill a bag with crushed ice and some water to soften the sharpness of the ice. He feels like a child again, like the time he, Jack, and Ben tried to slide down the stairs on a piece of cardboard and they pushed him a little too hard. He’d tumbled down the stairs and burst into tears when he hit the foyer, and his mother had babied him all day, to his delight. He’s not a child anymore.

So he dries his tears, ices his head, and lets his mother examine him. She frowns and clucks her tongue every time he winces and flinches away. Eventually, she determines he hasn’t broken anything. “You took quite a fall,” she says soothingly, rubbing his shoulder. “Is your vision okay?”

Luke nods, leaning into her embrace. “I’m fine,” he says, trying to sound convincing.

“You know, it took you so long to walk,” she murmurs. “The first time around, at least. Your brothers were up and at it before they turned one. You took your first step at thirteen months, fell down, cried your eyes out, and wouldn’t try it again until you were almost one and a half.”

“So,” Luke mumbles, rubbing his raw eyes, “I was shitty at it...even then.”

His mother chuckles to herself and puts an arm around his shoulders. He moves the ice to his cheekbone. “But you’ve always been determined. That little fall set you back. But you still learned eventually.”

“Stop being so damn...optimistic.” Luke’s throat tightens up again. “I’m clumsy and crippled. I just fell down the stairs.”

“It’ll come back to you in time. You never took the easy way.”

Luke doesn’t know what she means by that. There _is_ no easy way. He’s doing things the only way he knows how, and even that’s failing him. “Maybe it never will.”

“Darling, of course it seems that way now. But this is just a little fall. If you could walk after the first time, you’ll walk again.”

“I wasn’t brain damaged when I was one,” Luke mutters, but lets her console him nonetheless.

He’s not one year old. He’s not a child. He’s an adult. So as such, he dries his eyes and reaches for his crutches.

 

* * *

 

“Look, that seagull is trying to take that entire sandwich,” Calum snickers, pointing to a seagull trying desperately to get off the ground. Somebody must have dropped their sandwich earlier. Luke allows himself a laugh as they make their way slowly across the grass, his crutches catching occasionally in the divots. There are children playing some hundred meters away, laughing quietly in the background. It’s quiet for a week day—Rian is out sick for the day—but Luke is grateful for the peace.

“Hate gulls,” Luke grunts, walking as fast as he possibly can, which isn’t very fast. It’s probably normal walking pace for anyone else. The goal here is distance, though—Luke’s able to walk longer and longer stretches than he could when he first arrived at physical therapy.

“Doing great, Luke. Feeling good?”

“Yeah,” Luke lies. His legs are aching and begging for relief, but Luke wants to please Calum. He wants it for himself, too. “Am I—getting better?”

“Are you kidding?” Calum beams ecstatically, eyes crinkling up. “Do you even remember your first day of therapy? When we asked you to try just standing with your crutches, you started to cry. You could hardly even do that. Now you’re getting down the stairs. That’s incredible. I know it seems like the road has no end, and sure, you’ll probably have to work for years to regain what you had. But still—progress.”

“I fell down,” Luke admits sheepishly. He doesn’t tell Calum that he just lay at the bottom and cried afterward.

“Everyone falls down. You just get up, dust yourself off, and keep moving.”

Luke tries to think of a response, but is beaten by a voice calling Calum’s name, and then his. He swivels his head, searching for the source. Calum’s face breaks into one of those brilliant smiles and he tosses a hand up in an exuberant wave. “Ashton!” he shouts. “Hey!”

Luke’s stomach flutters. He turns his head as Calum leaves his side and jogs toward Ashton. Ashton is wearing basketball shorts and cleats and stands across from a younger boy who wears similar clothing and dribbles a football between his feet. Luke squints at the scene while Calum greets Ashton, grasping his hand and doing some sort of jovial chest bump. He slowly pivots with his crutches and starts to make his way over. Ashton sees him and waves, smiling.

“I’m just helping Harry practice,” Ashton explains. “He’s got a tryout in a couple of weeks. Hey, Luke, this is my brother Harry. Harry, this is my friend Luke.”

Luke smiles tentatively and waves at Ashton’s brother. He looks sort of like Ashton with similar colored curls and a matching smile. He’s still thinking about the words _my friend Luke_ when Ashton asks what they’re doing at the park. Calum tells him that they’re taking a walk, and Ashton nods. He says something Luke can’t hear, doesn’t seem to be meant to hear, and Calum nods, glancing at Luke with an encouraging smile. Luke looks down at the ground and keeps going until he reaches the tiny group.

“Good to see you,” Ashton says warmly, putting a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “I was just thinking of you today.”

Luke can’t stop himself. “You were?”

“Calum tells me about your progress sometimes. I was wondering how you’re doing.”

It’s an honest, direct question. Luke doesn’t mind it. In fact, he can’t help but feel a touch brighter, knowing Ashton was thinking about him, knowing Calum talks about him with pride (or at least, he hopes). “Good,” he says simply. “It’s...good.”

Ashton laughs like Luke has told a joke. Luke looks down shyly. He can feel Calum’s scrutinizing gaze on him and simultaneously feels Ashton’s eyes burning right through him. He wants the interaction to end and he wants Ashton to keep looking at him with that strange intensity.

Nobody ever said Luke knew what he wanted.

The distant jingle of an ice cream truck filters through the conversation. It doesn’t catch Luke’s attention until Harry tugs on Ashton’s arm and asks if he can go get some. “I didn’t bring my wallet,” Ashton tells him apologetically.

“I did,” Calum jumps in. “I can take him to get something, if you want.”

“It’s fine, I couldn’t—”

“Seriously, Ash. I don’t mind. Harry, come on.” Calum beckons Harry with a nod of his head, urging him to follow. Harry does, kicking the ball back to Ashton with a grin and jogging after him. Ashton stops the ball with his foot, lifts it into the air with the tip of his shoe, and catches it. Luke swallows to soothe his dry throat and smiles nervously when Ashton smiles in his direction.

“Do you want to sit down?” Ashton offers first thing. “There’s a bench right over there.”

“Yes, thanks,” Luke says gratefully, turning toward the bench and starting towards it. “Um. I didn’t know...you had a brother.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s about 11. I have a sister, too, and she’s 14. They’re great kids.”

“I—have two brothers,” Luke says, eager to relate. “21, and...22.”

“So you’re the youngest? Did they beat up on you a lot?”

Luke smiles. “Sometimes. When I was little. They teased me, a lot. I was a crybaby, so I made an easy target.”

Ashton strains his eyes to see where Calum and Harry have gone. “I think I’m close to my siblings because there are so many years between us. Lauren’s seven years younger and Harry is almost ten years younger. But I can’t talk to them like equals, of course, which is the downside. They won’t be adults for a while.”

Luke thinks to himself that it doesn’t matter; even though he’s an adult now, his brothers still treat him like a child. It doesn’t help that he can’t do anything on his own. He wishes he was like Calum and his friends, free to do what he wanted without fear of others’ censure. He feels somehow that Ashton has never worried about what people think of him, though he can’t say why. He’s never been that sort of person; even as a child he was always conscious of how he appeared.

“Do you think you could teach me how to play pool?” Luke blurts out. He has no idea where it came from, just that he desperately wants to hold Ashton’s attention. “Well, I mean. You’re good...aren’t you?”

Ashton tosses his head back and laughs. “I suppose so. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you? A few days ago I had to drag you off the couch to get you to try it, and now you want lessons?”

Luke shrugs, abashed. He doesn’t care much about pool, but he needs it to connect with the other boys. “I guess.”

“Well. If you really want me to, I’ll teach you. We’ll have to go to my mum’s house, though. We have a pool table in the basement, and it smells better down there than in that damn rec center.”

His house. Luke squirms. “Okay.”

“You don’t have to be so nervous,” Ashton says, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a smile. “God, you really are strange, kid. Haven’t you ever been to someone’s house before?”

Yes, I have, Luke wants to say. He wants to tell Ashton about lying next to his friends in sleeping bags and measuring every move, more and more afraid with each passing day that someone was going to realize. Yes, I’ve been to a million boys’ houses except for yours and everything is different now from how it was then anyway. Luke says nothing about it. He flushes and turns his head, embarrassed. Ashton puts a hand on Luke’s shoulder. The weight surprises him. “Hey, it’s not a bad thing. You’re funny, is all.”

“How is that a good thing?” Luke asks timidly.

“I don’t know. You make me curious. You’re like a puzzle, and I thought I was good at puzzles.” Ashton nods toward Calum and Harry’s approaching figures. “There they are. That was quick. You’ll give me your number, won’t you?” Luke sort of just stares at him, caught off guard. Ashton bursts into laughter again. “So I can call you over to play pool, idiot.”

“Right.” Luke coughs and reaches for his crutches. “Calum has my number. I don’t have a paper.”

“Okay, I’ll get it from him then.” Ashton smiles and stands up, presumably to continue practicing with Harry. “It was a pleasure to see you again. Take care.”

Luke lets Calum pull him to his feet and gets back on his crutches, palms sweaty. He takes stock of his physiological reaction—clammy hands, racing heart, dry mouth.

This is something he can’t have. This is something he needs to put an end to. It’s not sustainable; this year should have taught him as much. And yet, this, this is the recrudescence of his hope, that a man he should not want might revive him.

 

* * *

 

Luke receives a letter in the mail with no return address. The note inside reads in blue ink, _Still watching._

Luke’s heart pounds violently as he shoves the letter in his drawer with the other notes. They form a small, scattered pile of paper, but it sort of feels like he’s hiding baseball bats instead.

 

* * *

 

“The two men, Garrett Jones and Trey Garcia, escaped from the prison last week. They remain at large and...police have put all their...resources into finding them. The prison has not...responded to questions regarding the escape, but is expected to hold a press... _conference_...sometime this week.” Luke sets the newspaper down. His mother sips at her tea, only half listening. “My head hurts now.”

“You’ve gone almost through the entire section. Why don’t you take a break, hon?”

“This is useless. I’m not...improving. What’s the point?” Luke huffs and leans back in his chair.

“Sweetheart, you know this is supposed to take time. That’s why you keep practicing.” She sighs and stands up to take her mug to the kitchen. “I think you should get out of the house. It’s been so nice to have Calum taking you out. It’s doing you good.”

“I don’t see what good it could...possibly be doing.”

His mother sounds aggravated when she speaks, as if he’s said something truly contemptible. They’ve been testy toward each other the last couple of days. “Luke, it wouldn’t kill you to be optimistic. You know they’ve done studies about this sort of thing; people who remain optimistic are able to fight off terminal illnesses better.”

“I’m not terminally ill. And besides...it’s none of your business how I think.”

“Forget it, Luke. You’ll do what you want, as always.” She slams a cabinet door shut. Luke kicks the table leg, half irritated and half apathetic to the entire situation. If he rose to his mother’s provocation every time she blew up, he’d spend all his energy fighting. “Sometimes I think I should just leave you to Ben, since he’s the only one you’re civil to these days.”

Luke grumbles under his breath, anger and distrust bubbling under his skin. He doesn’t want to get into this. “Then do it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Another slam of a cabinet door. Luke rolls his eyes and glares at the wall. “I’m your mother.”

Luke refrains from saying anything else that might light a fuse. He slumps over the table and rests his chin on his arms, frowning sullenly at the newspaper. The days at home make his skin itch as if plagued by an invisible rash. The feeling of being stuck where he is as if glued by concrete to the sidewalk, watching everyone’s lives pass him by, is thick and heavy on his tongue. He hasn’t made progress in weeks, it seems. A tiny part of him fears that this is his plateau; he has met his capacity for improvement. Calum assures him such things are only his perception, but he doesn’t understand how he’s supposed to see it from any other angle but his own.

These little spats blow over quickly. She feels guilty for being impatient with him and remembers that he depends on her. He remembers to be kinder next time. The tension dissipates in a day, tops.

The phone rings. He pays no attention until his mother storms back into the kitchen and says, “It’s for you.”

Calum? Ben? Luke doesn’t know who he’s hoping for as he grabs his crutches and begins the slow journey to the kitchen. His mother doesn’t spare him a glance, the phone lying abandoned on the counter. Luke leans heavily against the cabinets and picks it up, putting the receiver to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hey, Luke?”

“Who is this?”

“It’s Ashton.” Pause. “Is this the right number?”

Luke’s stomach flips automatically and he grips the phone tighter. He shuts his eyes for a second and tries to sound casual as he says, “Yes, it’s Luke.”

“Oh! Great. I wasn’t sure. Your mother—that’s your mother, right? She sounded a bit angry.”

“She is.” Luke wishes his voice didn’t sound so shaky. How does Ashton always manage to sound collected? He must feel nothing for Luke then. But of course. It would be hubris to assume Ashton would feel anything. It would be foolhardy to believe Ashton _could_ feel anything for him. “Um, what’s up?”

“I’m free today and I was wondering if you wanted to come over so I could teach you how to play a little better. Like we talked about.”

“I remember,” Luke says, perhaps too quickly. He doesn’t want to read too eager; that’s the sort of thing that scares people off. And surely Ashton has read the newspapers. It wouldn’t take long to put two and two together, for him to think that Luke might _feel_ something stupid for him —

He doesn’t, though. How could he? He mustn’t let himself think about this. Someone will find out. Someone could grab him off the street again and be no worse for it—no consequences, because Luke has been cowed into silence just from the first time around.

“I would hope so. Are you free this afternoon? I can swing by after work and pick you up. Would you be okay with that?”

“Yes. Yeah, sure, I could swing that.” Luke is quiet for a second, checking his nonexistent calendar. “Looks like I’m free after therapy.”

“Okay, great, I’ll have you playing pro in no time.”

They exchange only a few more lines—Luke’s address, the outlining of the day ahead of them, and a quick goodbye. When they hang up, Luke turns to his mother and says, declaratively, “Ashton is picking me up later.”

“Who’s Ashton?” his mother asks, but Luke doesn’t think she actually cares.

“Calum’s friend.”

“What does he want with you?”

“I don’t know.” Luke amends a second later, “Well, he’s teaching me how to play pool.”

His mother puts a hand over her heart, frowning dramatically. Luke pushes back up on his crutches and starts toward the living room to sit on the couch. His mother calls after him, “I hope you aren’t planning to gamble, are you?”

“I’m depressed, not idiotic,” Luke mutters. And besides, he has no money to while away even if he wanted to.

Time, though. He has all of that and then some. And all of it to spend on a golden boy.

 

* * *

 

Luke can hardly speak on the drive to Ashton’s house. The house itself is a sweet one-story that looks much nicer than Ashton and Michael’s apartment. Luke wonders if Ashton grew up here, and pictures a little boy with unruly curls and bright hazel eyes running around the yard. Surely things were always this way. The flowers are well tended to and the lawn is neatly trimmed; someone must be looking after the garden. Luke takes care not to trample any of the flowers along the walkway as Ashton helps him toward the door.

“Mum, are you home?” Ashton calls out, shutting the door after them. “I brought someone over.”

There’s a shuffling from the living room and the sound of a TV set shutting off. In a second, a middle-aged woman comes around the corner, There’s a gap between her front teeth and her hair is pulled into a frizzy bun. Luke can see the resemblance if he squints. Ashton’s mother hurried forward and hugs Luke without hesitation, momentarily immobilizing him. Ashton groans to the side. “Don’t smother him.”

“It’s nice to meet you, hon,” she says, patting his shoulder in a maternal way. “What’s your name?”

“Luke.”

“We’re going down to the basement,” Ashton says abruptly, pulling Luke toward a stairwell. Luke hurries to keep up with him, and Ashton softens and slows a bit to allow him time.

What surprises Luke is that he initially missed that the stairs leading down to the basement are not stairs at all but a wooden ramp. The incline is gentle due to the fact that the ramp doubles around once to allow a slower rate of descent. Luke wants to ask why the house is outfitted for disability when Ashton, his mother, and brother don’t appear to need such accommodations, but he’s afraid it would be rude to ask and keeps his mouth shut. Even though Luke is confident in his ability to go down the ramp on his own, Ashton hovers over him protectively. In the middle of the basement is a beautiful pool table lined with red velvet. The balls are waiting in the rack, ready to go.

“Here we go,” Ashton says, grabbing a pair of cues from a rack against the wall. “What do you think?”

“It’s a nice table,” Luke says blankly. “You don’t live here anymore, though, right?”

“Nope. If I could have taken the table with me, I would have, but Michael and I just don’t have space.”

Luke nods as if he knows what that’s like. “When did you and Michael...move in together?”

“Pretty much as soon as he left the dorms. I’m a year ahead of Calum and Michael, so I moved out a year ahead of him and he moved in the next year. It helps to split costs, really. Rent is really too much these days.”

Ashton hands Luke a cue and stands behind him, pressing him to the table as he did a week ago at the rec center. “I could always get you a chair if this is uncomfortable,” he offers.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Luke says, trying not to sound too vehement about it. Ashton’s heavy weight is difficult to ignore, but he doesn’t want it to leave, either. “Um, what do I do?”

“Remember, you have to break first.” Ashton guides his hands, pointing the stick at the cue ball. “Some people like to do it at different angles rather than head-on.”

“What do you do?”

“I like to try certain angles. If I can get a ball in first go, that’s a plus, because I can keep going. You remember what I told you about how one player will get stripes and one will get solid?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t. “How do I know if it will go in?”

“I mean, there are never any guarantees in life. I’ve missed balls that were already halfway into the pocket. All you can do is practice and study how different angles and power will change your lot.” Ashton repositions the cue. “Let’s get that ball over there. It’s a clear shot.”

Luke doesn’t expect to sink into Ashton’s world so completely, but Ashton threads his instructions with pieces of wisdom that draw him under. Ashton has a way of making their surroundings disappear, of making Luke laugh and see the sunlight when it’s been raining in his heart for so long. He even starts to enjoy playing pool, even though he’s exhausted and incapable of more than clumsy shots that lack the necessary precision and elegance to score. Most of his points are by luck.

After a couple of hours, Luke doesn’t think he can stand anymore, even with Ashton’s support. Ashton sets the cues aside and helps him back toward the ramp. “You did great,” Ashton tells him warmly. “I didn’t know you would want to learn. Calum told us the first few weeks you were shy, so I never guessed you would ask me for help. I didn’t even think you’d come back to the rec center after that first week.”

Luke grunts as he slowly ascends the ramp. Going uphill is significantly more difficult than going down was. “I’m crippled, there’s not much to do.”

“Don’t use that word,” Ashton chides softly. “Treat yourself with respect. You are more than your disability. It’s only a physical obstacle, and you are made up of a million abstract, wonderful things.”

“Just a million?” Luke jokes, trying to hide the awkwardness he feels. Ashton snorts in response.

“At least,” he corrects himself. “Come, I’ll take you home. I’ve kept you for too long. Your mother will be expecting you, right?”

Luke nods, his contentment dampened by the knowledge that he has to go back home. Home feels like a prison, and Ashton feels like breathing after being underwater for too long. Everything is too much and not enough; reprieve is short-lived and not nearly long enough to compensate for the constant pressure. Everything swims in his head like a shark in a fishbowl, pounding on the inside of his skull as if trying to find an escape. He humors the shark sometimes and drops in some bait, but the agitation isn’t worth it.

Ashton drives him home. Luke isn’t sure if it’s better to be with Ashton even if leaving him is inevitably torturous, or to stay home and acclimate to the feeling of his head in the water with the shark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE tell me what you think! sometimes i run out of steam on this story bc i don't get a lot of feedback and it really helps to inspire me! if you wanna just say something like "cool story bro" that's cool but if you have the time or motivation i encourage you to tell me about the things that make you squirm or smile or worry. (all of this read as: please love me)  
> so now you have some interesting dreams and conversations to contend with. what are ya thinking? what about the notes? what about ashton? what about his mother, and jack??? will luke ever find true happiness again?  
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	7. the dawn right before the sun rises is the darkest

“Luke, do stop staring off into space,” Michael sighs. “Do you want my fries, or not?”

“No.” Luke takes another sip of his Coke. He’s never been to a waterfront cafe before; he’s been watching the water and falling into a trance for near an hour now. They’ve finished eating and are waiting for the hours to pass before they go to the rec center. Calum isn’t coming today. “Mike, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, bud. What’s on your mind?”

Luke leans forward onto his hands. “If you liked someone that you knew didn’t like you, what would you do?”

Michael squints at Luke. Luke isn’t sure if it’s because of the sun or because Luke has said something strange. “Girl troubles?” Michael asks. Luke thinks about it, then shakes his head.

“Not really.” That’s laughable; most of Luke’s problems have to do with boys. Boys with too much machismo and boys who make Luke cry and boys who are clueless. Boys are the root of all his problems.

“Boy troubles, then,” Michael muses. Caught off guard, Luke doesn’t respond. Boy troubles? Luke doesn’t know what to say. He feels stripped suddenly and unexpectedly; how can he be honest with someone he hardly knows? Michael smiles and nods to himself in the lapse. “Must be.”

“What makes you think I have boy troubles?” Luke asks, frowning petulantly. Really, what does? He doesn’t present himself in a way that suggests any such thing, at least he doesn’t think so. Perhaps Calum told him. “What kind of boy has boy troubles?” Luke adds for good measure.

“I’m sure plenty of boys have boy troubles,” Michael says calmly. “You’d be surprised.”

“I don’t know of any.”

“Course you do. Everyone seems to think they don’t know any gay people when really, they’re all around.”

Luke rolls his shoulders back uncomfortably. He feels shy all at once. He wants to hide, but Michael is staring right at him. It’s like going onstage and forgetting his lines. He doesn’t know what to do in this situation and never really has; there’s no manual or self-help book out there written for scared gay kids. Maybe that’s his calling in life. After all, he’s starting to rack up a pretty solid list of don’ts.

“I don’t know what you know,” Luke says finally. “But it’s _possible_ that I have...boy troubles.”

It feels like a bigger admission than he wanted. He forgets often that he has to be careful; somehow, it always slips his mind that he almost died for being indiscreet. And yet Michael is so flippant, so blasé that it seems possible he could be easy about it. “I know a thing or two about boy troubles,” Michael says.

Luke does a mental double take. Michael? No way. He always thought other boys who liked boys were like him—average looking, lacking in masculine energy, and a little passive and afraid. Michael, with his dyed black hair and loud mouth, seems too far removed. Luke isn’t even sure why he thought they would all be like him. Or why he thought he was the archetypal gay man. Really, Roy had more of a masculine sense of things, and wasn’t passive in the least. Neither were the men at the gay bar he went to the night he was beaten. So maybe it makes sense that Michael isn’t straight. Luke tries to picture Michael kissing a boy. It’s not really so different from kissing a girl except for how it looks, which gives Luke more pause than anything else.

Luke only comes up with a dumbed down version of his confusion. “No way,” he says dopily.

Michael nods, seemingly amused. “I’ve dated a boy or two, you know. I told you; we’re everywhere.”

“You’re—” Luke lowers his voice conspiratorially. “—gay?”

Michael shakes his head rapidly. “Oh, no. I mean, I guess, but I do like girls too.”

Girls _and_ boys. Luke doesn’t really understand how, but if it’s possible for him to like boys when he’s supposed to like girls, it’s not remotely far fetched that someone could like both. The important thing is that Michael shares his experience in some way. It sort of forces Luke’s eyes open. He really had no idea. Michael seems so happy; how could that be, if he isn’t straight and normal? Even before the attack Luke didn’t feel happy. He felt scared and alone, mostly.

“But you seem so happy.”

“I am happy. Life is good. My friends are by my side, my family is healthy, and the weather is nice.”

“Don’t you feel sad sometimes?”

Michael stares at Luke like he’s speaking French or something. “Of course I do. I was sad this morning when I dropped my bagel face down on the ground.”

“But.” Luke struggles to formulate the same thought he had privately. “You know, if you’re like me—aren’t you sad at all that people don’t tolerate it? Don’t you worry that something will happen to you?”

“Well, obviously it’s rational to worry about those things. I think I worried more when I was a teenager. But as much as it blows to be an outcast, there are lots of good things in my life too. Overall, I’m happy.”

“I worry a lot.”

“Believe me, I don’t go around talking about it to anyone. It’s not always safe. And yeah, sometimes I do get discouraged thinking about the odds I face if I go out with a boy. But it’s not like things are going to change. Things just are what they are. I have to deal with my fears and depressions just like you do. It’s just that I’ve found ways to lighten the load.”

How can Luke even think of lightening the load? He shakes his head, unwilling to buy in. “You can’t just _decide_ to be happy about it,” Luke says, frowning stubbornly. “I suppose it’s easier for you.”

“Mm, and how’s that?”

“You know I got attacked, right? I’m sure Calum told you, or...you figured it out yourself. My picture, my name, was everywhere.” Luke had seen his own face in the newspapers the week he was released from the hospital. He can’t look at Michael for the shame of it.

“I know.” Michael purses his lips and looks at the surface of the table. “Obviously you’ve taken the bullet and you know what it’s like. I won’t tell you that I _don’t_ have it easier. But it’s still possible for you to end up happy, you know? It’ll just take a while.”

Luke sighs. “I don’t see how. Look, I’m sorry, but...nobody gets it, because nobody was there, and nobody knows what really happened.”

“All right, well, then I’m sorry too, because nobody is going to understand if you don’t tell them. Do you expect people to magically know what you’re going through?”

“Nobody wants to hear about it.”

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said, Luke. Everyone’s dying to know.”

“Everyone wants a story out of me.”

“It’s true, but there are some people who want to know what happened so they can help you heal.”

Luke feels obligated to prove that he’s not a spoiled, self-pitying child. But he’s been keeping his secrets close to his chest and expecting everyone to tiptoe around him; Michael is right about that. He isn’t sure that so many people want to help him, but perhaps there’s some truth to his words. In the silence, Michael smiles to himself. Luke feels simultaneously grateful and irritated.

“And hey, if you ever wanted to talk about it, I’ll listen,” Michael assures him.

Luke smiles awkwardly, but doesn’t respond. He looks back out at the water. Drowning in it―he’s already drowning in the trauma again. Every time he pushes it down, it gets stronger and threatens to rise up as an ocean of hurt. But what if he opens up to someone and it just floods his lungs instead of relieving the pressure in his chest? It would be best to lock the gates, maybe forever.

“Let’s get going. We should get to the rec center before traffic picks up. You done?”

Luke nods and wipes his hands clumsily on a napkin. He’s quiet the rest of the night, mulling over the gravity of everything Michael said.

 

* * *

 

Autumn brings a wave of colder temperatures, and Luke’s hip hurts worse than ever. Even attending physical therapy is difficult some days. Rian tries to go easy on him, but at the same time, the only way to make progress is to push through it. The bones may have set, but they aren’t as strong as they were, and likely never will be. At home, he grows tired of resting. He spends half his time trying to read to whoever agrees to be his audience and the other half watching TV.

Ben comes home for Anzac Day. Luke’s mother decides that the annual Anzac Day barbecue they hold for the family will continue, although Luke tries to fake being sick to get out of having to be downstairs during the gathering. Luke hasn’t seen most of these relatives since Christmas, right before he was assaulted, and he knows that with his secret out, small talk will be awkward and embarrassing. He prepares himself for veiled insults and disapproval. The biggest mercy is that it isn’t a sit-down type of meal, and Luke is permitted to lie on the couch and watch TV as relatives come in and out of the house, so he’s counting on being excused from most of the socialization.

His mother bustles around all day in the kitchen, leaving Luke to his own devices. Ben manages to sneak out from helping a few times to sit with him for a few minutes until he inevitably gets yelled at to come help again. Jack is nowhere to be found, as usual, and his father is outside getting the grill ready. Luke falls asleep a few times with “Saved by the Bell” playing in the background.

People start arriving around four in the afternoon. Luke’s entire body tenses at the sound of the doorbell. He knows that a few months of isolation should be enough, but somehow he still feels unprepared for their visit. He doesn’t even know how he’s meant to show his face now that they know he’s gay. They probably talk about him and what a shame he is to the family; he knows they say those things because he heard his mother tell his father once what one of his aunts said on the phone. His mother hadn’t directly defended him at the time. And he doesn’t blame her for that, not exactly. After all, his mother is deathly afraid of how people perceive her, particularly her own relatives. How much she loves him plays no part in how she speaks about him to others. It hurts anyway.

His mother answers the front door. Luke’s hands twitch toward his crutches, but he’s afraid to get up and see who it is. He listens to the sound of their voices as they exchange greetings, and thinks it’s his aunt and uncle on his father’s side. His mother guides them through the house to the backyard, skipping over Luke entirely. Luke feels invisible and as relieved as he is bothered that she didn’t bring them to the living room. Everyone is trying to avoid conflict and it’s too clear to overlook. Sometimes, Luke likes the quiet, but sometimes, dancing around the hard truths is irritating.

It’s one of his other uncles who arrives fifteen minutes later that finally takes the plunge. He strides into the living room and smiles at the sight of Luke. “Hey, champ,” he says, grinning broadly and clapping Luke on the shoulder a little too hard. Luke rubs his shoulder discreetly and smiles back. “Wow, you’re looking a lot like Jack these days. Honey, doesn’t he look like Jack.”

Aunt Laurie smiles in a way that Luke senses is uncomfortable for her. “Yes, quite,” she murmurs. Luke can feel the tension coming off her in waves, but his uncle seems at ease.

“What are you watching?” Uncle Henry asks, sitting down next to Laurie. Luke nods at the TV, trying to be natural.

“Saved by the Bell. You ever watch before?”

“Not much. Though, your cousin Seph watches now and then. He couldn’t make it today, he’s working down at that new grill by the Coles Supermarket. You know the place?”

Luke isn’t really sure, but he nods anyway. “Um, do you want...to go eat?” he offers. As with people he meets these days, he feels excessively conscious of his speech difficulties. He hasn’t seen his relatives since before the accident, and he knows they haven’t a clue about what he sounds like now. He’s wary of seeing pity on their faces when they realize. “Dad’s...making something.”

“I’ll check it out as soon as you tell me what you’ve been up to these days.”

“Honey, I’m going to go outside,” Aunt Laurie says politely. “Come and join me in a few minutes, will you?”

Uncle Henry nods and waves her off. Slightly relieved, Luke tries to think of something not pathetic to say. “Um, I...go to physical therapy. I read and stuff.” He doesn’t think that quite cuts it, but it’s really all he does. “Oh, and Jack plays video games with me.”

“Sounds like you’re keeping busy. You going to go to uni next year? I bet you’d like it. You’re a smart kid, aren’t you?”

Luke shrugs, unwilling to accept praise. “Maybe. Not sure yet.”

“You know, you should go out of state. I tried to get Seph to apply out of Australia, even, but he didn’t want to. I’ll write you letters if you do.”

Luke smiles. His uncle is trying too hard; he can tell, because his smiles last too long and the conversation about uni won’t go much further. But it’s an effort to be normal without regard for Luke’s situation, and that’s better than the aunts and uncles who traveled past him to go outside. It’s much better, in fact. After a minute or so more, his uncle gets up to go get food. Saved by the Bell stops airing, so Luke switches the channel around until he finds some crappy drama that will entertain him just enough not to switch the set off. It’s a little saturated on the histrionics, but the only other thing there is for him to do is stare sadly out the window at everyone else having fun.

The sun is starting to go down, and Luke stretches out on the couch, thinking drearily that this is the worst Anzac Day he’s ever had. Before, Anzac Day meant fun with family, hot food off the barbecue and the sun warming his deprived skin. It meant playing pranks with Jack and avoiding elderly relatives by making up whatever excuses possible to get away. Now, the mischief has faded. Perhaps it’s getting older, and perhaps it’s being an anomaly, a rock surrounded by jewels. Something nobody wants.

The back door pops open. Luke looks up, distracted, as his father and a few uncles come back inside. Luke shrinks a little and feels immediately nervous. He pretends not to look at them, but his father addresses him and breaks his peace. “Luke, toss me the remote,” he says.

“I’m in the middle of a movie,” Luke protests weakly, although he isn’t completely engaged in it. But how is he supposed to pass the time if he loses the TV?

“We want to watch the AFL game from last night,” his father says, looking expectantly at the remote next to Luke. “Come on, you’ve had the TV all day.”

“The movie isn’t done.”

“I heard you. Hand me the remote.”

“No, I don’t want to,” Luke says stubbornly, trying to hold his ground. It’s not easy in front of onlookers. If they were alone, ironically, his father probably would give in, but far be it from him to let Luke win a fight in front of his male relatives. He’s already suffering the affront of Luke being a homosexual in his house, no less. Raised two sons to manhood and couldn’t manage to go three for three. Luke will always be in their shadow.

The smile on his father’s face is strained and borders on unpleasant. It reminds Luke of a wolf before the kill. “Nobody wants to watch your teen dramas,” he says. Luke’s stomach twists in a nasty way and he tastes something sour. He translates it into his head as, _this isn’t masculine and I don’t want my brothers to see you disgrace me._ It’s something like that, a jab at his masculinity.

“I don’t want to watch AFL,” Luke says, pushing his chin up. He sees Ben enter the house behind his father and uncles, and then Jack. Both their expressions change as they see the standoff taking place. “You can watch upstairs.”

“Dad, I’ll help you set up the set,” Ben offers as an attempt at diplomacy. Luke feels rigid and trapped. “You know Luke needs the TV.”

“We want to watch downstairs. There’s no room in your old room. Luke, let’s go. No more of this drama crap, okay?”

“I told you I was watching,” Luke says, brow furrowing in distress. On screen, Buffy tells her girlfriends that she’s been hanging out with Pike. “I’ll give it after.”

“We can watch for a bit with him,” one of his uncles offers. “It’s fine, Andy.”

His father steps forward and comes close to Luke, leaning down. He doesn’t look pleased. “I don’t want to make a scene with you right now,” he says quietly. “Listen to me, or there will be consequences. Do you understand?”

Luke’s mouth goes dry. Silently, he passes the remote to his father. Buffy’s face disappears in a second and changes to a field dotted with players. Luke grabs his crutches and shuffles over to the armchair where he can sit alone. The rest of the seats in the room are quickly occupied. For the first time in a long time, he feels true anger breaking through the dull ache that has clouded his mind since the attack. Yes, he’s humiliated, and yes, he’s hurt, but he’s simmering, too. How dare his father treat him the way he does?

“Luke, I can’t remember. Did you ever play AFL? Or was that Jack?” one of his uncles asks after a long time. They’ve all been talking while Luke boils up inside.

“That was Jack,” his father says with a laugh. “We always had to push Luke to get into sports. Luke wanted to sit around writing for the school newspaper.”

“I did basketball,” Luke interrupts. He fixes his father with a cold look. “Remember?”

“Sure, but only a couple of years in high school. I was so relieved when you finally took to something that didn’t involve having your nose in a book. You never liked roughhousing as a kid. I was afraid you’d never buck up and try something physical.”

“So, what,” Luke says, starting to feel that everything is going downhill, “whatever else I did wasn’t...valuable? Because it wasn’t physical?”

“Don’t be so sensitive. You know I didn’t have a problem with you not being a jock. It’s not your fault you were always a bit of a...well, a bit of a pansy.”

Luke doesn’t have the words he wants. Blood rushes in his ears. He wants to disappear and he wants to land a right hook on his father’s mouth. The room is deathly silent all of a sudden except for the TV. Luke clenches his jaw and yells, “Ben?”

“Oh come on, Luke,” his father says quickly, as if Luke is making a big deal out of nothing. “Can’t you take a bit of ribbing?”

Luke is fumbling for his crutches. He’ll use them to bash his father’s head in the way his was and then ask him how it feels, ask him if his mind has changed.

“How,” Luke starts, vibrating with fury and his voice shaking, “can you even _think_ about calling me slurs after what happened? How can you look at me, your son, and take their side? How dare you?”

“How dare I?” his father spits in shock. “You made your choices in life, Luke. I’m not responsible for what happened.”

“I made my _choices_?” Luke’s voice is rising. His stomach is pure acid, and he’s burning from the inside out.

“Yes, Luke! I have been nothing but understa―”

“You fucking _asshole_ ―”

“―but if you’re a faggot, don’t expect me to be sympathetic.”

“Stop!” Luke screams, snapping. He’s blinded by his rage, tears hot and wet on his cheeks. He can barely stand on his shaking legs, supported by one crutch. “How can you look at me and still treat me as _less than_ after someone took a baseball bat to my head? How can you look me in the eyes and call me a faggot after they wrote it on my hands in my own blood? I may be a disappointment but I am your son I am your son _I am your son_ and what gives you the right to look at me the way you do? I am not...just...a mistake. Maybe I love the wrong kind of person but...at least _I_ know how to love someone.”

Ben stands in the foyer, the creak of his weight shifting on the tiles breaking the heavy hush. All eyes are on Luke, in shock and disarray. The evening peace is obliterated. Luke feels months’ worth of anxiety dissipating rapidly, and the vice-like tightness in his chest easing. When the floodgates open, the pressure subsides.

“Go to your room,” his father says icily.

“ _No_ ,” Luke says, struggling with his crutches. “Ben, I want to go outside. Please. I want to go outside.”

Ben comes to his side quickly and quietly, sliding an arm around Luke’s waist and helping him out of the living room and toward the front door. Luke manages to hold it together as the stuffy autumn air hits him and Ben helps him sit on the porch step. Luke was crying before, but now he really breaks down, sobbing the way he did the night the brick came crashing through his window. Ben sits down next to him and puts a heavy arm around his shoulder. Luke goes boneless in his hold and lays his head on Ben’s shoulder, tears quickly soaking through the fabric of his shirt.

“Dad was wrong,” Ben murmurs. “He was so wrong, Lukey.”

“I will never forgive him,” Luke chokes out, letting Ben rock him back and forth. He’s too old to be properly held, but he’s small enough that Ben will still try. “Never, ever. He’s on their side, not mine.”

“He shouldn’t have said those things. It’s good, that you stood up for yourself. You’ve let people walk on you too long.”

“Fuck him,” Luke spits, trembling like an earthquake. “Fuck _everyone_ who has the nerve to pretend that I don’t hurt. I know now. He will always see me as less than.”

“Sh,” Ben murmurs, pulling Luke closer and trying to calm his storm. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Don’t. Don’t bother. Let him think nothing of me. He can never take back that _word._ ”

Luke shivers at the memory. His anger is starting to recede, but the sting remains. He huddles against Ben’s side, the wind freezing the tears on his cheeks. He bites his lower lip, jaw aching from gritting his teeth before. Fireworks go off in the distance, but he can’t see them.

“I wish I’d been there that night,” Ben says quietly, out of the blue. Luke is startled, and looks up at Ben expectantly. “You know. I remember you storming out of the house after Dad yelled at you. I figured you would just...drive around, and then come back. I remember when we were little you used to crawl under the bed and stay there until you stopped being mad. That’s really all it felt like. And I think sometimes that if I’d stood up for you in front of Dad, maybe you would have stayed home and just crawled under the bed like you used to. And then I think that maybe I should have gone with you because you were upset and it was dark on the road and I should have thought to make sure you didn’t crash. It just gets me sometimes that if I’d done something differently, maybe nothing would have happened.”

The confession tears the breath out of Luke’s lungs. Maybe it’s just the light, but Ben looks drawn and tired. Does he think about it often?

“We can’t go back and fix it,” Luke says.

“I have nightmares every now and then,” Ben admits. “I’m sure they’re not like yours, but―I keep dreaming I’m with you, and then I turn around and you’re gone, or I see them coming for you and my whole body is paralyzed, and I can’t do anything. Even now I just feel helpless for you. I’m sorry I didn’t support you better before the accident. I cared, I just―I guess I felt numb to it because I tried to distance myself. I tried to play both sides and get you and Mum and Dad to find a middle ground. I’m the diplomat in the family, you know? I don’t think I understood that there shouldn’t have been a middle ground. We’re either with you or against you. I didn’t know I was sending a message that I didn’t support you all the way.”

“You’re fine,” Luke says, uncertain of what else to say. “You―Jesus, Ben, you’ve done more...than anyone else has. And besides, it’s not like I expected everyone to be okay with it. I just thought that...I could change their minds. Now I see I can’t.”

“It doesn’t make it okay, Luke.” Ben squeezes Luke’s shoulders. “I’m trying to say I’m sorry. That I’ll try harder. That I won’t be passive anymore. I’m always going to want to protect you.”

Luke nods, eyes burning with tears again. It’s not that he’s happy, or sad; he feels grief for everything, for the pain he causes and the pain he suffers and the passing of their easy childhood. He feels sorry that things have to change at all. He wonders whether this will pass as well, and into what.

“I’m sorry too,” Luke says, face crumpling. “I shouldn’t have gone to that bar. I was so mad at Dad―at Mum, and at you and Jack. I was mad at everything. I was ready to come home, but they took me right outside. I thought of you. I screamed your name.” Luke thinks too late that Ben needs no more guilt on his shoulders, but he’s never talked about it before, not once, and all of a sudden everything comes bubbling up. “I was so scared. They put something over my head and then I was on the floor of a car. I was so scared, and I thought―I really thought―I was going to die.”

Luke’s voice catches, and he shrinks in on himself tightly. “Some of it is fuzzy. I remember when they pushed me out of the car, but then it’s all gone. I don’t even remember their faces, you know? And then I woke up, I guess, and I was cold and everything hurt like I was dying. I couldn’t stay awake. I kept waking up and going back under. I remember when the ambulance came. I remember you talking to me in the hospital. I’m sorry I got mad at you. I remember when you sang to me.”

Luke is almost panting from the force of getting the words out. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a shuddering breath. The memories bombard him without rest. When he finally reopens his eyes, he sees with a fright that Ben’s cheeks are wet too.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Ben says, breath coming in fits and starts. He cried that day at the hospital, like his heart would break, but there’s something ashamed about his tears now. “I abandoned you when you needed me. Not just that night. The whole year. Who knows? If I had done something differently, maybe it wouldn’t have happened.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Luke huffs, wiping his own eyes. “It’s not like we can rewind.”

“I don’t want you to suffer anymore. That’s the trouble with being a martyr. It’s that you have to suffer, even if your suffering is for a good cause.”

Luke has never thought of himself as a martyr. If he is, then they have yet to see the impact. Of course, the story ran in the news for weeks. Everyone waited for him to die or wake up. After he woke up, the papers went silent.

“We should go back in,” Ben says softly. “It’s been a while.”

“Not yet,” Luke says, looking up at the star-speckled sky. Though it’s cold and he shakes in the wind, he lacks the courage to face the family. “Please. A little while longer.”

“Okay,” Ben says. “A little while longer.”

 

* * *

 

“Did you see that?” Michael hollers, thrusting the cue stick triumphantly in the air. “I got two balls in with one shot! Ash, tell me you saw that.”

“Sorry, wasn’t watching,” Ashton says pleasantly. Michael swears and ducks back down, muttering under his breath. Luke smiles at the exchange.

“You’re actually going to drive him nuts,” Luke says, snorting. Derek lines up to take his shot. Knowing that Ashton and Michael are best friends, he doesn’t worry that the pool feud will damage their relationship. “Is he always this competitive?”

“Nah, he’s just tired of getting beat. I tell you, he’s a fucking ace on the guitar and any video game you throw at him. But this is the one thing he can’t beat me at.”

“Because you’re good?”

“The very best,” Ashton says with a grin. It’s something he’s proud of.

“How did you learn?”

Ashton tilts his head back, his smile softening. “My stepdad taught me. I had my ass handed to me every day for years. It took a while for me to be able to hold my own. But, hey, everything comes with practice. Not for Michael, clearly, but most everything else.”

“I’m not good at anything,” Luke says, wrinkling his nose. That is true enough. He’s smart, obviously; even without his mother’s urging during his formative years, he would have done well at school. His focus is good and he didn’t have anything else to direct attention towards. But he never caught onto any extracurriculars. He might have done the school musical, if his dad had let him. That’s in the past now. But he isn’t special. The only reason he’s somebody is because of what happened to him. And maybe he’s never tried to make himself somebody. You have to put some effort in, don’t you? But maybe not. Ashton looks like the kind of guy who is somebody all on his own.

“Well, everyone is good at something. Maybe you haven’t found it yet.”

“Bit late to find something.”

“Mm, you never know.” Ashton sighs and shouts at Michael, “I’m playing next, so hurry up, you hear me?”

“Fuck off,” Michael says rudely.

“You fuck off,” Ashton shoots back. He tosses his head back and groans exaggeratedly before lowering his voice so only Luke can hear. It feels sort of secretive, like Ashton is speaking only for Luke. “Ugh, I wish Michael would hurry up. He takes so _long_ to shoot.”

“Yeah, like you’re so quick,” Luke laughs. “You’ve never watched yourself play. You’re like...a fucking statue.”

“Ah, you brat. I thought you were on my side.”

“Hey! I’m just telling the truth.”

Luke loves hanging out with Ashton, as much as he loves hanging out with the rest of the group. They all have their attributes, but Ashton draws him in best, and finally after months it’s starting to feel comfortable. Everyone teases Luke more than he teases anyone else, but it’s okay by him. He’s starting to know them, too. He keeps his secrets held tight to his chest, but it’s a temporary safeguard.

Luke is lost in watching the cue ball glide across the table when Ashton reaches over and lifts Luke’s legs across his own. Luke is surprised, but leans his head against the back of the lumpy couch and swallows hard as Ashton lays his palms over Luke’s knees. He appears at ease and doesn’t cease talking to Michael, as if he hardly thinks about it. Luke doesn’t feel as easy about it. Luke tries to remember if Ashton is a touchy guy in general, and then kicks himself for even allowing himself to consider it. That train of thought is dangerous.

“Luke, d’you want a beer?” Calum asks, holding up a bottle. Luke automatically starts to shake his head, but then stops. Why not? He’s legal, and he’s allowed to have fun. He always refuses even when the rest of them have a drink, and that makes him feel like a child. He says he’ll take the beer and lets Ashton open it for him.

It isn’t really _good_ beer, but though Luke wrinkles his nose at the taste, he swallows more of it down. It’s not the first time he’s had a beer. It’s been a while, though, and he doesn’t know how much he can handle. He doesn’t think passing out is a fun way to spend a Friday night. Carelessly, though, he drinks the first bottle down rather quickly. He can feel the alcohol buzzing him a little, but not enough to really distort his view of things. He feels just a little braver, though, and wriggles his legs on Ashton’s lap, loosening his muscles. Ashton grins and pulls Luke’s legs tighter against his waist, and then runs his fingers up Luke’s thighs just a bit. Luke lets his head rest against the armrest and smiles. Who cares if Ashton doesn’t like boys? At least Luke can have fun for now, right?

“I’ve never seen you this relaxed,” Ashton says, looking pleased. “You good, Luke?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Luke promises. “Cal, can I have another?”

Calum passes him the last in the six pack with a whistle. “Go slow, kiddo. You feeling all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Luke insists, exasperated. “I’m not a kid. I’ve drunk before.”

“You heard the man,” Ashley laughs, and comes over to ruffle Luke’s hair. Luke really likes Ashley; she’s cool, and he gets why Derek likes her. He even thinks maybe she’s a little _too_ cool for Derek.

Luke still feels like everyone is looking after him. He’s not a child, that much is true. Why is it so much to be treated like an adult? He’s not even a virgin. He hates feeling so helpless both at home and here. Maybe it’s for his benefit, but it doesn’t make it less frustrating. He’s at the age where he should be more independent than ever, and yet he’s so far from being self-sufficient.

“Luke, slow down,” Ashton says firmly, grabbing the bottle right out of Luke’s hand. Luke whines and gives him an offended glare, and Ashton laughs, holding it out of reach. “Don’t look so angry at me. You’re looking a little glazed.”

“That’s the point,” Luke tries to object, but his words come out less clear than they normally do, and that’s significant considering he isn’t normally too clear. And, wow; speaking is _hard_ when you’re brain damaged and intoxicated. “C’mon,” he says anyway, making grabby hands. “Please?”

“Just give it a little while,” Ashton says. “We can’t send you home drunk as a skunk.”

“Don’t see why not,” Luke grumbles. “Not like anyone would care.”

Ashton tugs at Luke’s arm until Luke sits up and drapes his arm around Ashton’s shoulders. Luke leans his head gratefully against the crook of Ashton’s neck. “That can’t be true,” Ashton says, stroking Luke’s hair comfortingly. “Someone’s gotta care. Even if you don’t think they do.”

“Nope.” Luke sighs, tired. “Not my parents, anyway. My dad doesn’t even talk to me.”

“Well, even so. What kind of friends would we be if we let you go home smashed?”

“Good ones.”

“Irresponsible ones,” Ashton corrects gently. “Plus, your mum won’t let you go out with us again if you come home looking the way you do.”

Luke distantly understands that he’s right. He pouts against Ashton’s jacket. Ashton strokes his hair to soothe him and Luke thinks he could stay here all night.

Something about Ashton feels like safety. Maybe it’s the way Ashton has been keeping tabs on his drinking tonight or the way he seems to genuinely not care about Luke’s disabilities. Or maybe it’s just that he’s bright and warm and comfortable. Regardless, Luke knows even in his current state that it isn’t smart to think this way.

“We should get Luke home,” Calum says, glancing at his watch. “It’s late. I usually don’t keep him out this long.”

“Give him half an hour to sober up,” Ashton advises, looking Luke up and down. “He’s pretty tipsy.”

“I have to get home soon. I have work tomorrow.”

“On a Saturday?” Michael makes a disgusted noise. “Go. Ashton and I can take Luke home.”

“You sure? You know where he lives?”

“I know,” Ashton speaks up, patting Luke’s shoulder. “Luke, you okay with us taking you instead of Cal?”

If Luke was sober, he would say no. He’s only spent time alone with Michael and Ashton once respectively, and he’s still trying to find his footing within the group. By contrast, talking with Calum is easy and natural, like they’ve known each other for far longer. But Luke is more confident with a few drinks in him, apparently. He says yes. His head spins a bit, but when they walk out to the car, Ashton’s arm under his own stabilizes him. His muscles feel lax and uncooperative, but he starts to regain control during the drive back.

He doesn’t remember much, just that when they arrive, the lights in the house are off. Luke manages to remember somehow that Jack is usually awake, and Michael tosses pebbles at Jack’s window until Jack opens the blinds in annoyance. Seeing Luke, he disappears from the windowsill. A minute later, he opens the front door. Michael tries to explain to Jack that Luke is still a bit tipsy and that they’re sorry they’re late.

“Thanks for taking me home,” Luke whispers, and leans up to kiss Ashton’s cheek in a moment of blind stupidity. Ashton lets him, but leans away a bit, not too keen on it.

“You’re drunk,” Ashton says almost in reprehension, but he doesn’t say, _what the fuck? What was that for?_

“Getting a bit handsy?” Michael says under his breath as he passes back to the car, but Luke feels it’s somehow not even directed at him. But that doesn’t make sense; Ashton isn’t the one being handsy, and Michael shouldn’t care. Luke brushes it off in his stupor. Michael makes plenty of sarcastic remarks that hold no real meaning.

“Hey, bud,” Jack says, taking over from Ashton and slipping an arm around Luke’s waist. “You must have had a lot of fun tonight.”

“It was okay,” Luke says, blinking in the cold night air. His legs don’t quite work right, so Jack seems to half-carry him. “Is everyone asleep?”

“Yep. And you’re lucky I’m not,” Jack says sharply. “You can’t be coming home this late. You’re on thin ice with Dad and if Mum finds out you’re drunk, she’ll absolutely lose it. Understand?”

Luke mumbles his assent. “I didn’t know I would go so fast,” he says dizzily. “You take me to bed?”

“As long as you don’t feel like throwing up, yeah.” Jack lifts him up the steps and into the foyer and locks the door behind them. He sets Luke on the bottommost step for a second while he goes into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” Luke whisper-shouts. Jack gives him an unimpressed look.

“You need water when you drink.” Jack fills up a cup of water and comes back, handing it to Luke. It’s plastic, thankfully, so it won’t break if it’s dropped, but Luke’s hand is too shaky and weak to grip it right, so Jack ends up tipping it to his mouth for him. Once Luke has drunk a sufficient amount, Jack sticks the cup in the sink and begins the tiresome work of hauling Luke up the stairs on his back.

Luke doesn’t remember much of it in the morning, but Jack changes him into comfortable clothes, brushes his teeth halfheartedly, and puts him to bed. Luke wakes up to blinding sunlight, a glass of water, and two aspirin on his bedside table. He doesn’t think of it, but it sort of touches his heart.

 

* * *

 

Luke gets a letter in the mail Sunday morning with no return address. In fact, it isn’t even stamped. Somebody must have dropped it in the mailbox themselves.

Luke doesn’t think of that at first. His only thought is that he knows that handwriting by now. It matches the handwriting on the other crumpled pieces of paper in his drawer. By now, he recognizes the slope of Es and the cursive Ys integrated among the writer’s neat print. He opens the envelope with shaking hands and smooths out the folded paper.

_Have you been good?_

Luke pulls out all the letters from his drawer and lays them on the ground, smoothing them all out. His fingers are clumsy and the back of his neck prickles with sweat. His throat burns as he forces it shut against any noise. He reads them all in succession, from the first to this one, trying desperately to remember if he’s seen the handwriting somewhere else. A drop of wetness falls onto the first note, blurring the ink there. More tears spatter the paper and the floor as Luke leans over the papers in despair. He tries to remember the damn face from his dream, the voice, the barricaded memories that he can’t unlock. It has to be in there somewhere. He must remember _something_ from that night.

Nothing. He still knows nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so......this is a little uncomfortable for me to admit given the general opinion toward this but i've recently gotten into kpop and am now splitting my time between fandoms. i apologize if it makes updates on this fic a little less frequent :(  
> if you happen to be into kpop i'm writing under the pseud @jacksonset and my side tumblr blog of the same url. just on the off chance!!!  
> on the other hand who's excited for a new 5sos album bc i sure the heck am  
> anyways i appreciate any and all feedback of course!!!! hmu either on my main tumblr or in the comment section bc honestly comments make my day you have no idea!!!! <3 thank you all my lovelies

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr [here](clingyluke.tumblr.com)


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